


Game of Thrones Seasons 7 & 8 The Fanfiction

by Wemoleitch



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-15 00:04:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 133,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8034232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wemoleitch/pseuds/Wemoleitch
Summary: Winter has come. A Queen and her dragons sails for Westeros to retake her birthright to the Iron Throne, currently in control by the Mad Queen, while the King of the North struggles to unite the great houses together before the Battle for the Dawn begins...





	1. The Mad Queen

Cersei

The Queen of the seven kingdoms, first of her name and protector of the realm, made her way down the street of sisters with her personal guard. Ser Robert Strong, otherwise known as The Mountain, was beside her, as was Qyburn in his black robes, his head held higher than normal, with the Hand of the Queen's badge on his chest. Crowds of peasants parted like a flies before them. The knights under her command pushed people aside who got in the way, shoving them down without restraint. Even a pregnant woman was shoved onto her side in the gutter to make way for the Queen. As they pass, Ser Jaime Lannister steps over and helps the pregnant woman back up. She shoots him a fearful glance before running away. Queen Cersei sees this act and only smirks.

Nobody says a word. The Smallfolk are silent with fear. Not even a whisper escapes them but Cersei can feel the fear in their hearts, hiding behind shut lips and wide eyes. Behind them, the rattling of chains is the only sound on the street, followed by the occasional whimper and moan of pain from Septa Unella. She was being dragged by a chain wrapped around her throat. Her body was bare and covered with long whip-lashes, cuts, bruises, and burns. She had been shaved completely, like Cersei had been, her nakedness and baldness a sight for the city to behold. Unlike Cersei's walk of shame, however, there was no chanting of "Shame." and there was no outburst from the people watching. They all saw the septa and how her face hardly resembled a face anymore. Cersei eyed the peasants as they passed, satisfied with their fearful silence and angered eyes. The Mountain dragged the Septa the whole way down to the ruins of the Sept of Baelor where a crowd of thousands awaited.

Smoke from the explosion was still fuming up into the heavens from the rubble beyond, clouding the sky and giving the air a smell of putrid flesh and fire. Upon arrival, Qyburn points to a wooden beam protruding from the side of a destroyed tower. "We can use that, my Queen. It should suffice." He gestures for the Mountain to bring Septa Unella forward. The giant of a man listens and forces the once prideful septa toward the beam. Qyburn turns to the crowd of on-lookers and says "The woman you see before you has committed crimes against the throne. Under Queen Cersei's rule, such criminals will not be granted a trial and will be sentenced to death. Let this be a reminder to all what happens when you go against the Queen Majesty."

Septa Unella trips and falls to her knee and the crowd gasps. Cersei watches with a bulge of enjoyment as the Mountain tugs her along, tossing the chain up and over the wooden beam. Nothing could take away from the sweet satisfaction Cersei felt in her heart as her loyal knight pulled on the chain and yanked Unella off her feet. Suspended in mid-air, the woman begs for mercy, but her words are choked and gargled. Cersei never looks away, making sure Unella sees her face as the life slips out of her.

Cersei looks to Jaime and sees he is clearly uncomfortable and disturbed. They don't say anything, not here.

Once back in the red keep, away from the public eye, Jaime goes to Cersei's room where the Mountain stands guard and tells him to stand aside. He doesn't listen. "Move or I'll have the Queen know you stood in my way." Through the slits of his golden helm, the Mountain's bloodshot eyes bear down at him threateningly. The door opens behind him and Cersei appears, garbed in a red and gold gown, without her crown. She commands Ser Robert to step aside and he does so.

"We need to talk." Jaime tells her as he sweeps past, hearing the door shut behind him.

"Clearly," Was all the Queen said and when he turned around her expression was that of cold determination.

"What happened while I was gone? Tell me the truth." Jaime asks, "I've heard the rumors and I've seen the Sept for myself but I can't believe it's true."

"Rumors?" Cersei smiles, "Let me clear you conscience. You _should_ believe them. I blew up the Sept and everyone in it without batting an eye. I had the Mountain keep Tommen here in the keep where he was safe. When it was all over I found our son with his faced caved in on the steps outside. He jumped before I could speak with him, no doubt after witnessing his wife and precious cult go up in flames."

"How can you say that with such indifference?! Our son is dead! Our last son! All three of our children are gone now and all you have to say is this?!" Jaime steps back, shaking his head, unable to believe his eyes. But his sister stood there, rooted like a tree, her face the same cold, hard face she gave all who argued with her.

"He outlawed trial by combat after you left." She tells him, "Our son would've seen me dead so he could keep fucking his little whore. But if you are asking me if I foresaw Tommen committing suicide then let me tell you I did not so we can put the matter behind us." She drew closer to him then, dropping her cold persona as she did.

But Jaime couldn't look at her. "So I suppose I should be okay with all of this? The Sept blows up, the king dies and his mother takes the throne. Do you have any idea how this looks?"

"Would you have it any other way?" She snaps at him, getting closer and closer. "You weren't here! I did what our father would've done! And I'd do it again a thousand times over! Don't you see?! It's like you said, we don't need anyone but each other. Tyrells, Martells, Tullys, Starks, it doesn't matter who they are, they can all _burn_! All we need is each other just as it's always been!" She grabs him then and forces his chin up with her fingers, looking him in the eye. "You've been gone a terribly long time, Ser Jaime, and a Queen has her needs." The swell of her breasts pressed against his chest, her leg slid between his crotch, and her lips latched onto his with the ferocity of a lioness.

Jaime pushes his sister back. "Stop." He says weakly, tearing his lips away, "Just stop." But she doesn't stop. She digs her nails into his clothes, ripping them off. He is weak to her, she senses it and shoves him onto her bed. He tries to get back up but she's already on top of him, straddling his hips. He realizes he is afraid, too afraid to stop and too afraid to keep going. "I don't want this." He tells her as she undoes his belt.

"I don't care." She answers, forcing him inside of her.

* * *

Arya

The serving wenches at The Twins of the Crossing were preparing the usual morning porridge; rashers of bacon, and dried bread for their Lords of House Frey. One of the serving wenches was pouring what appeared to be cow's milk into each of the bowls until they were all full and ready for eating. Smiling, the serving wench and several others bring the bowls out into the great hall where all of Lord Walder's sons were seated, some already digging into their breakfasts while others argued over their father's whereabouts. "Father is usually late but never this late to break his fast." Edwyn Frey commented as he crunches into his bacon.

"Perhaps he had too much to drink last night?" Another son, Petyr Frey says as the serving wench hands him his porridge.

"Maybe one o' us should go and check on 'em?" Asks a third son, Steffon Frey, fatter than the others.

"Let the old man rest. He'll chew yer head off if ya wake 'em." Scolds Ryman Frey with a yawn, already half finished with his porridge.

It wasn't until they were all eating that they noticed two of their brothers were missing as well. "Where's Black Walder and _Lame_ Lothar?" Asks Edwyn Frey.

"Probably torturing ol' Edmure down in the dungeons." Ryman Frey scoffs, slurping down the last of his bowl and licking his lips. "Anyone else think the milk today has a funny taste to it?" There's several murmurs of agreement. Ryman looks around and sees Petyr Frey has passed out in his chair. He laughs and points at him, but as he does so his own arm sags limply, elbow crashing into his bowl. Beside him Edwyn Frey collapses face first into his bowl. Steffon Frey releases a long, loud belch, smiling with pleasure as he leans back in his chair and starts snoring. Ryman gawks at his brothers, cousins, nephews, and uncles, confusion settling in as the Freys all suddenly, inexplicably fall asleep where they sit. Ryman stands up, shouting in slurred speech, "No! What's happened!?" He tries to flee but his legs are numb. His eyes roll into the back of his head as he trips. When his head hit the floor he was already dreaming.

Silence falls across the hall as the Freys sleep.

After a moment of this, the doors crack open and one of the serving wenches enters. She removes her face and approaches Ryman on the floor first. A small smile forms across her lips as she unsheathes Needle. "The Starks send their regards." Arya whispers as she plunges Needle into his throat. When she pulls it out a little fountain of blood spurts up. Ryman's eyes never open, but his mouth quivers as if from a bad nightmare.

Arya moves next to the table on her right and, one by one, makes her way down the length of it, cutting each and every Frey throat along her way. When she reaches the other end of the table, her hands are red with their lifeblood. Arya goes back to the center of the hall and admires her work before putting Needle back in its scabbard.

In the dungeons below, Edmure Tully hears the sound of encroaching footsteps. Blinking through tears of pain, he sees a young lad standing beyond the bars of his cell. He almost looks familiar but he can't quite name him. "What do you want, boy?" Edmure asks, trying to place where he recognized him.

Arya doesn't answer, only reaches up with something in her hands and with a loud _click!_ The cell door opens. Edmure just stares, unable to believe his eyes. Was this his new torture? Was he being tricked somehow? What farce was this? But the little boy only turned and walked away, leaving the door open. "W-Wait!" he calls, standing up and moving to the open door but never crossing through. "Wait! Who are you!? What is this?!"

The boy stops for a moment at the top of the flight of stone steps and seems to consider his question...

Arya never turns around and she never says a word as she exits the dungeons.

* * *

Bran

The cold winter forest could not hide the enormous wonder that was The Wall from Bran, especially now that they were so close. Meera was dragging him on his leather sled, grunting with every step. He felt bad for her and wanted to make it up to her, but didn't know how. Up ahead the trees thinned and the base of The Wall appeared. Snow was falling heavily all around them, so when Bran looked up, he couldn't even see the top of magnificent structure. "We made it." Meera gasps, collapsing into the snow out of breath.

"Do you think they can see us?"

"They better." Meera grunted glaring up at the top of The Wall. She stood back up and started waving her arms, but Bran thought it was unlikely they'd be able to see her no matter how hard she tried. The winds of winter were just too strong.

"There's a storm coming. We have to get inside." Bran tells her, "Do you remember the secret passage we came through?"

"Yes but I have no idea where to find it again." Meera tells him. Bran says he remembers and asks her to take him. Before she can pick him up, however, a single horn blast sounds off from atop The Wall. It was followed by a second blast not long after.

"They see us!" Meera exclaimed with excitement, punching the air with joy and turning around to face Bran, grinning. "We're finally out of this nightmare! We made it, Bran! We…" Her voice falls short and she looks down sadly.

"What is it, Meera?" Bran asks her.

"I just wish… Jojen and Hodor could be here with us." Meera admits, wiping her eye. Behind her the gates groaned to life and lifts up out of the trenches of snow. Two of the night's watch appear in the tunnel, approaching them with swords drawn.

"Meera." Bran says quietly before the men get close. "I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"What do you mean?"

"Who goes there?!" Calls one of the men in black.

"What I mean is, the Night's King… he grabbed me. He knows where I am."

"What are you saying?"

"Uncle Benjen said The Wall is protected by magic. But the Three-Eyed Raven's cave was also protected by magic until the Night's King touched me. What I'm saying is—"

"Speak up! Who goes there?!" Called the night's watchmen once again, getting closer. They could hear the other remarking how he thought all the Wildlings were on their side of The Wall now.

"Bran, we have to go through. It's the only way we'll be safe. Your uncle didn't seem worried about that and neither should we." She tells him, waving her hand for the watch and shouting: "I am Meera of House Reed and this is Bran of House Stark! We need to pass!"

The two men of the night's watch look at each other with disbelief. "Stark?" one questions. "Does that mean—are you Jon's brother?"

Bran nods "I have urgent news for my brother. Can I speak with him?"

"You could if he was here." The man in black grunts. "He rode for Winterfell some time ago. They're calling him King of the North now."

Bran knows he should be surprised, yet somehow this news doesn't shock him. Meera looks to Bran and says, "Your brother, maybe he already knows?"

"No. He couldn't. Not unless our father told him…"

"What are you two going on about?" The watchman asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Can we come inside and stay the night in Castle Black?" Bran asks him. The other night's watchman says that will be up to their Lord Commander, but that they may cross for it is not safe out here.

Through the ice tunnel and out the other end, Bran and Meera, assisted by the two men in black, enter Castle Black's courtyard. A stifling snow is whirling around them. Bran covers his mouth as he looks around, having never set foot inside Castle Black before. He thinks to himself, _so this is where Jon has been all this time. First a brother of the watch, then Lord Commander, now King of the North?_ He remembers Maester Luwin telling him that even a Bastard can rise high at The Wall. But Jon was not the bastard he thought he was… At least, not from their father.

When the Lord Commander came out and down the flight of stairs, Bran expected to see a man who commanded fierce respect and loyalty; Someone who was large and strong, A man who looked like he could defend The Wall with bravery and might. Instead, they got Dolorous Edd.

"Jon told me about his brothers." Dolorous Edd said as he stood before them, eyeing Bran's legs. "Told me about your accident. Said you'd never walk again… Jon is my brother, which makes you my brother. You have the watch's aid, Bran Stark. Whatever you need."

"Thank you, Lord Commander." Bran nods, "You have my gratitude. We've been north of The Wall for a while and could use beds to sleep in for the night. In the morning we will make our way south to Winterfell."

"The room is yours. Though we can only offer you small amounts of food and a lukewarm bath, our storage have been running low." Ed nods to Meera and tells her she is also welcome to stay. "But I got to know, how long have you been out there? What have you seen? We need to know."

"The White Walkers, we've seen them." Bran says, looking up at Ed who wasn't much bigger than Meera. "They attacked us. We fled and made it back but they followed. The Watch needs to be prepared for an assault."

Ed gulps. "Bloody brilliant. We've encountered them as well. Jon killed one."

 _That's my brother_ , Bran thought with a smile.

Before any of them could say another word, the earth beneath them shook and a loud CRACK! split across the sky as if from thunder. Meera fell and collapsed in the snow beside Bran, who gripped her hand tightly. Ed swore, nearly falling over himself from the earthquake. One of the watch yells and points up at The Wall. Bran knew what it was before he even looked. Running down from the top of The Wall to the bottom was a long, deep fissure in the ice. Small chunks were falling from the damage, crashing like boulders into parts of Castle Black. Part of the elevator's wooden beams split from the falling debris, threatening to tear the whole thing down. "Take cover!" Ed shouted, ducking down and helping Meera cover Bran with his cloak. The rest of the watch all ran under shelter. Bran could feel Meera's hand around his squeezing for dear life.

Then, just as quickly as it began, the earthquake ceased and the ice stopped falling. The large crack, however, remained where it was as if some giant has slashed it.

"Fuck me." Lord Commander Dolorous Ed growled apprehensively. "That can't be good."

* * *

Sansa

Winter's snow covered the castle in a blanket of beautiful, pure, white. Looking down from her tower, Sansa was able to bask in Winterfell's glory all around her, standing in the same room she was once held captive in with Ramsay… She closes her eyes, forcing herself to steer her thoughts away from that creature; a task she finds herself doing every day. The cold wind blew on her face, caressing her auburn hair and giving her goose-pimples down her back. She wishes she could erase those memories completely, and wondered if it was too late to try and get their parent's bedroom back from Jon.

She dresses in her Stark gown, the fur warm against her neck, and heads down the spiraling staircase to join her brother in the great hall. She was always invited, he told her, saying he valued her council just as much as any others. She appreciated that, yet every day he would turn to Davos when he looked for advice and far fewer to his sister. But Sansa said nothing. Jon was the King of the North… It didn't matter that he was only her half-brother, not to her. Her father's blood ran through his veins… Yet she couldn't shake this feeling that something wasn't right. Littlefinger's words rang in her memory like a bell, whispering the words "Half-brother" whenever she grew annoyed with Jon's dismissal of her. _I have to trust him. I do trust him. He's family. He's safe. I can trust him…_

Yet her experiences with Joffrey… with Ramsay… with Littlefinger… All of it had taught her one thing: Never trust anyone, no matter who they are. Everyone has their own agendas… _But not Jon. He's family. Trust him. Trust Jon._

Jon

The cold dark halls of Winterfell always brought back memories of his childhood. Watching their Lord Father address the Smallfolk on a day-to-day basis, commanding soldiers to follow orders, passing judgement as Warden of the North. Now Jon Snow sat in his father's seat, watching the crowd of commoners gather in the great hall before him. It was so strange to be here now. He never asked for this, yet here he sat; King of the North. Beside him, Sansa Stark sat with her arms folded over her chest, watching Jon as his subjects approached, declared him the King of the North, and told him of some minor problem or another. Wolves had attacked a farmer's cattle and wanted soldiers to help defend his lands. When Jon told him he could spare no men, the farmer asked instead for compensation for his cattle. Jon agreed. Sansa did not, yet it was not her say in these matters that counted. She could only sit by, watch, and listen as Jon ruled. He could sense her disagreements from her subtle body-language. But discussing such disagreements in public was not wise.

It was Davos, sitting on Jon's other side, whom he went to for advice on these matters. "The wolf is responsible for this man's lost cattle. But we can't bring the wolf to justice, nor can we afford soldiers for him. I suggest paying the man gold for another cow or two, your Grace."

The farmer thanked them, nearly crying from alleviation. When the last of the Smallfolk leave and the hall grew quiet, Jon sighed with relief of his own. "Not a bad day, Your Grace?" Asks Davos with a friendly smile.

"Long." Jon replies, leaning back in his seat. "I never thought I'd be sitting here like this. Commander of the knight's watch was easier. At least there I only had The Wall to deal with. None of these northern politics…"

"I can't think of a better man for the job, your grace." Davos tells him, "Stannis commanded respect but you receive respect without ever asking for it. That's a sign of a good leader."

"I wouldn't be half as good a king if it were not for your council, Ser Davos. Thank you, for everything."

"My pleasure, your grace. I believe we have one more if you're up to it. Lord Petyr Baelish." Jon nods. "Let him in." Davos calls to a Stark guard at the doors. Jon, thinking it was all over, straightened up again. But it was Sansa who stiffened with worry at his side. _What did Littlefinger want now?_

As the small man entered, wearing his black cloak and a mocking-bird pin on his chest, he swept back the cape around his right arm and bowed. "My King." He says respectfully, smiling up at their table.

"Lord Baelish." Jon smiles grimly. "What pleasure do I owe this visit?"

"I come with a request, Your Grace." Littlefinger straightened, his eyes flickering to Sansa who glared back at him distrustfully. "As you may recall, in the battle against the Boltons it was my knights who came to your aid. As I'm sure you're well aware, I wouldn't have done this if not for your sister's letter. She practically begged me for my help. In this letter, which I have here—" He pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment from his sleeve, "She promises to reward me for my help in the matter. Normally a simple request from one as beautiful as Sansa would be enough reason for me to answer the call. However, her promise of a reward has gone unfulfilled. So I come to you, the King in the North, and ask if you intend on honoring your sister's promise?"

Jon looked to his left and saw Sansa glaring daggers down at Littlefinger, her lips tight with anger. Jon had a feeling there was something he was missing and frowned. "Ser Davos. The letter, I'd like to read it myself."

Davos stood, crossed the hall, received the letter from Lord Baelish, and returned to the table. Littlefinger had half a smile on his face, watching Jon read. "As I said, your grace, she promised a reward and I answered the call. I was never loyal to House Stark before and I'll be the first to admit it, yet I answered the call. And even after the battle, when no reward was given, I announced the Vale as House Stark's ally when I didn't have to. I could've left with my knights and never returned. Yet here I stand, my knights ready to defend the North."

"He speaks true, your grace." Davos tells him, eyeing Sansa.

Jon looked at Sansa, disbelief in his tone of voice. "You promised him a reward?"

"I did." She admits, "I promised him a reward if he came to your aid. He answered the call… after you'd lost almost all of your men and were on the verge of death yourself. He came right when it was the most convenient time to. Do you really think such a craven deserves a reward?"

"Is it a craven who risks his life and the lives of his men to go to war? Is it a craven who waits until the right moment to strike in order to save as many of his men as he can? Where do we draw the line between cowardice and heroics?" Petyr Baelish asks, looking at Jon and not Sansa when he speaks. "Regardless of whether or not my tactics were morally sound, I answered the call and, arguably, won you the battle. I only ask for what was promised me."

Jon raised his hand to silence them before Sansa could respond. "You will have your reward, Lord Baelish. I will not have House Stark be called liars. Name your price." He didn't need to look to know Sansa was giving him a disapproving stare.

"There's only one thing I ask for. Your sister's hand in marriage."

Jon was surprised. Sansa spoke before he could this time, and she did so with audible rage. "I will never marry you, Petyr. Ever. How dare you come here and ask my brother—"

"Sansa!" Jon interrupted, his voice stern. "I will handle this."

"But Jon—"

"I believe my request was for the King of the North, with all due respect, my lady." Littlefinger's sly smile was piercing.

It was Davos who spoke next. "Lord Baelish, if I may, why Lady Sansa? Surely there are other women you can marry yourself to. Unless, and I may be mistaken, you intend on gaining something more from this arrangement?"

"You are mistaken, Onion Knight. I have been in love with Lady Sansa since the moment I laid eyes on her. She has been my goal, my one true desire, for as long as can I remember. I would do anything for her." Littlefinger paused, appearing amused by Jon's uneasy expression. "Unfortunately she has been… less than appreciative of my affections."

Davos could tell Jon was struggling with this, so he spoke up in his stead again, "Lord Baelish, you are a well-known man. You are known for being an intelligent, tremendously rich, self-made man. Some say you have your little finger in everybody's pocket... Stories of your love for Catelyn Stark is also a well-known thing, m'lord…" Littlefinger's smile slacked and Davos knew he'd struck a nerve, "Forgive me for asking, for I know little about love, yet I can't be the only one who finds it strange you've fallen for the daughter of the woman you once fought for?"

"I see. If this is what concerns you then let me reassure you that my love for Catelyn Stark was a powerful thing, and after she was murdered atrociously at the Red Wedding I was lost. But then I saw a chance to redeem myself for failing her. I rescued Sansa from Queen Cersei before she could have her head for merely being a suspect in King Joffrey's murder. I brought her with me, took care of her at the Vale, made her part of my family. I fell for her more as we grew closer, and I realized I was given a second chance from the Gods at love."

"Were you not married at the time?" Davos asked frankly, "While you were busy falling in love?"

Littlefinger's eyes flickered to Sansa. "I was. Lysa Aryn was a delicate woman. She was also touched in the head. I found her abusing Sansa. I had her thrown from the moon door for her crimes."

"Funny, I heard she slipped of her own doing." Davos glared at Littlefinger, not believing a word the man said. "Though it does seem you are willing to go far to protect her from harm."

"I would sooner die than see Sansa hurt."

"Then why did you sell me off to Ramsay like I was nothing to you?!" Sansa blurted out, her hands balled into tight fists across the table before her. Davos and Jon both stared at her in shock as she yelled, "You gave me to a monster without a second thought, for your own gains, and when I was being raped and beaten in my home you weren't there! How can you say you love me?"

"My Lady, you forget I offered you a choice. I would never force you to do anything. Have I ever?" The question lingered for a moment and Sansa remembered that day overlooking Moat Cailin and being told she could turn back with him… But she also remembered initially not wanting to go… So why did she go? As she asked herself these questions Littlefinger continued talking, "I believe I have proven my love for Sansa exists, if that is what the Onion Knight wishes to confirm with these questions."

"I've heard enough." Jon announced.

He could feel all eyes on him now and the pressure to speak weighed heavily on his heart for this was the last thing he wished to speak of. It was Sansa he looked to and saw clear as sunlight she did not want this. Whoever this man was, whatever he'd done right or wrong, she did not love him. "You ask for my sister's hand in marriage. But I cannot make her do what she does not wish to. But I can grant you a reward for your services in the battle. We do not have much gold but we can give you what we can afford—"

"Gold is something I fear I have more of than most, including you, your Grace." Littlefinger interrupted, his smile dissolved now. "You said to name my reward and I name Sansa."

"Well I can't give her to you." Jon says.

The relief on Sansa's face was profound. Littlefinger, however, didn't move from his spot, resolute in his position. "What will happen then, when I leave Winterfell unrewarded? What will happen when you go to seek alliances for the great wars to come and they hear the Starks are not the honorable house they once were? What happens when they call you the Bastard King who does not give as much as he takes?"

"Is that a threat?" Jon frowned.

"It's a prediction, your Grace. A prediction of the future. As your Onion Knight has already proven, I cannot control how truth and rumors spread, only that they do spread, far and wide across the realm. It would be a terrible thing, really, especially after announcing my allegiance to your House and saving your life in the battle of the bastards."

Jon leaned back in his chair, studying the man before him. The arrogance was back, but this time he had made a point Jon couldn't contend with. The King of the North looked this time to his right, where Davos leaned in and whispered in his ear: "He's trying to manipulate you. He's played his hand. It's up to you now where this goes."

Except Jon didn't know where to go with this. "I will consider your request, Lord Baelish, and give you my answer as soon as I've decided."

"That's all I can hope for, your Grace. I thank you for your time." He bowed his head again, turning with elegance for the doors, casting Sansa one last devious glance, before strolling outside.

As soon as those doors closed, Sansa began. "You can't seriously be considering this, Jon? He's trying to use you to get to me!"

"I understand that… Do you take me for a fool?" He asks her calmly.

"Then why didn't you deny him?"

"Because it's more complicated than that. We need the knights of the Vale as well as every other house that we can get to join us when the dead come! I have to look at all of it, Sansa, so I can't just deny him outright. I need time to think."

"So then what are you going to do?! You can't expect me to marry him!" Sansa was on her feet now, her cheeks red and her eyes glistening. "He knows you have the power to marry me off now and is using you! He doesn't care about me or you or the north, he only cares about himself! Do you really trust a man like that?!

"I wasn't the one who trusted him to begin with! If it wasn't for you sending that letter and promising him a reward I wouldn't be in this position!" Jon snapped back, "You never told me about his army! You never told me about your promise to him! You never told me anything! Now I have to make a decision and you want to blame me!?"

At once he regretted these words and losing his temper. The sour dismay in her face broke his heart. It didn't matter then whose fault this was; only that his sister was crying and he didn't know how to comfort her. "Sansa…" he reached out but she brushed past him, walking briskly out of the hall, refusing to let them see her tears.

"Your sister's resistance is understandable," Davos said after she was gone, both of them standing up from their seats now that their business had ended. "Personally, I don't trust the man. But he makes a good point that if we don't give him what he wants the realm will hear about it."

"I know. But how can I give up my sister to a man like that?"

"I don't envy your position, your Grace. All I can tell you is to do what you think is right. That's all any of us can ever do."

Jon nods grimly and Davos leaves him standing alone in his great hall, wondering if his father ever felt this way.

* * *

Brienne

Toads and crickets sung their songs, the water rippled under their boat, and Pod was humming the bear and the maiden fair as they sailed north. Brienne was rowing, her arms growing tired and her back sore. They would be at Winterfell within the week, she guessed, trying to tune out her squire's song. "Hm hmm hm hm hm hmm hmm hm hmm!"

"Pod." Brienne said, glancing over her armored shoulder at him. "Do you have to do that?"

"Hm? Do what?"

"That humming. You're not a bard you're my squire. Unless you have a lute hiding away somewhere then I'd rather not listen."

"Something on your mind, my lady?" Pod asks, "You've been in a foul mood since we left Riverrun?"

Brienne turns back around. "I'm fine. I just don't like being this close to the marshlands."

"They say that the Crannogmen live in these bogs." Pod said, wondering at the massive, murky trees and fog that surrounded their river. "Nobody really hears much from them. They mostly stay in hiding. Frog-eaters, Lord Tyrion used to call them. Green-skinned barbarians others say. I've never seen one for myself though. But I'd feel better if we got out and started walking soon."

"All the more reason we should try and stay quiet." Brienne says, "There's a dock up ahead we can port at and make east for the kingsroad. Just stay low and don't make any unnecessary noise."

"Yes, my lady."

After another hour of rowing they found the small, downtrodden pier amidst the brushes and tied the boat up to it for anyone's future use. She wanted to get out of the armor and rest her muscles but she'd have to wait until they made camp for the night.

As they made their way through the thick bushes, Brienne swatting branches and cobwebs out of their way while Pod got tangled up in them, the two hear the sound of trotting hooves. _A road must be close._ Brienne hisses at Pod to duck down and the two of them bend at the knee behind a tree, her hand around the hilt of Oathkeeper. She watched with bated breath as the horse came into sight, its rider garbed in a familiar red robe.

The Red Woman was traveling at a steady pace, her head bowed low and her expression distraught. She was alone.

So many questions, yet Brienne was filled with only one desire and was on her feet before she could think, sweeping through the forest until she was on the road, blocking the sorceress' path. The horse neighed in protest, galloping to a stop a few feet in front of her.

"Lady Brienne of Tarth." Melisandre says, recognizing the large woman.

"Why are you out here alone?" Brienne asks, letting her suspicion show.

The Red Woman smiles sadly. "I've been exiled from the north by its new king, Jon Snow."

"The battle, it's happened?" Brienne asks, alarmed, "What happened to Lady Sansa? Tell me!"

"She is fine. It's thanks to her the battle was won, it seems. But none of that concerns me anymore. Jon Snow's decided he no longer has use for me. So now I must go. Goodbye, Lady Brienne." Her horse began to trot forward but Brienne moved in her way once more, holding Oathkeeper in both of her hands.

"Why have you been exiled?" Brienne asks, her voice growing deep with anger. "What did you do?"

Melisandre appeared worried now. "I've told you enough."

Brienne got closer, causing her horse to grow nervous and back away. "Stannis wasn't the only one responsible for Lord Renly's murder. It was a shadow… a shadow _you_ spawned with magic. You are just as guilty as he was. What other crimes have you committed? Tell me now and I'll spare you a slow death."

Melisandre opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Brienne everything or perhaps to tell her nothing. Brienne never found out. Before a single word came out from her red lips a small, green dart appeared in her neck, protruding out from The Red Woman's jugular like a needle. Brienne could only watch as the sorceress toppled down from her horse, landing in the mud unconscious. Her chestnut reared on its hind legs, threatening to crush Melisandre's head underneath her—But Brienne roared at it, waving her sword. The horse turned and ran back down the road. All around her the trees seemed to whisper. Brienne held Oathkeeper at the ready, looking for the dart-blower and standing over The Red Woman protectively. Thankfully Pod was nowhere to be found, still hiding behind the tree. If she could somehow drag The Red Woman over there and—

A dart sprouted from her neck sending waves of euphoric numbness through her bloodstream. "Pod!" She gasps, collapsing under the weight of her armor. Her body gave up and her face met mud and rock... Dark shadowy shapes emerged all around her… Brienne closes her eyes, trying to feel for the sword at her side…

_Jaime…_

* * *

The Hound

If Sandor Clegane were given the choice, he would've chosen never to see the twins of house Frey again in his life time. The Red Wedding would be one of those things he wouldn't be able to forget, but Sandor Clegane was used to never having choices. He'd agreed to travel with the Brotherhood without Banners though really he didn't have a choice, he'd probably die alone. They wanted to go north. With a force of their size, going through the twins was the quickest option. It just meant dealing with the fucking Freys. Personally, the Hound didn't mind the idea of going in and chopping them all up just for the fun of it, but Beric Dondarrion wanted to try negotiating first. "If they give us any trouble I'm confident we can handle them. Walder Frey is an old and feeble man and his sons are all morons and cravens. We won't have much of a difficult time getting through, mark my words." He told Sandor before riding down the hill toward the southern tower.

"That's what Robb Stark probably thought." The Hound muttered, unheard. Behind them ride over five hundred men and women, most on horseback while the stragglers catch up on foot. They had given the Hound his own horse to ride, though he didn't care for how lazy it was. He had a hard time keeping up with the head of the army with Beric and the others, though sometimes he purposefully avoided them and their annoying lord of light nonsense by staying in the back. Today Sandor was riding faster than any other, kicking at his horse's sides the whole way there.

When they arrived and announced their presence to the tower guards no one answered Beric's call. After several minutes of waiting, the Hound grew impatient and kicked the door open. He walks in ahead of them, Thoros of Myr casting Beric an impressed grin. The entrance hall was empty. Down a ways he could hear the crying of women. The brotherhood dispersed throughout the tower as Sandor, Beric, and Thoros made way for the great hall where the crying could be heard within.

As they entered, the Hound saw the Freys all seated at the table… All of them were dead. A serving wench was sobbing in the middle of the room. One of the Freys was on the floor next to her with a pool of blood around his head. "They've been slaughtered." He heard Beric say.

"I've never seen something like this." Thoros of Myr mutters, lifting one of the Frey boy's head out of his bowl of porridge. "All of their necks were cut. Why did none of them try to run or fight?"

"This one did." The Hound kicks his foot at the Frey on the floor. "Didn't make it far."

Beric Dondarrion walked up to one of the bowls of porridge, stuck a finger in the aging milk, and licked it off. After a moment he turned to his companions and said "Milk of the Poppy. They were drugged."

"Only a fucking coward kills men like this." The Hound grumbles, looking around the room. "I don't see the old man here."

"Thoros, have the men search for Lord Walder Frey. Tell them the twins belong to the brotherhood now." Beric commands and Thoros smiles, nodding before exiting the hall.

"I thought you were going to Winterfell?" Sandor asks him.

"We will. But our numbers grow larger every fortnight and winter is here. It is wiser to take an empty castle while it's up for the taking, wouldn't you agree? Or do you disapprove?  
The Hound merely shook his head. "We will be the new Lords of the Crossing, and our banners will have no sigil so all know the Freys are no more. Sandor Clegane, I would offer you a proposal."

"Let me guess," The Hound said, grimacing, "You want me to go north for you."

"A single rider rides quicker than any army, and we would be better off defending the neck from any southern invaders while the King in the North hears our pledge. Tell Lord Jon Snow at Winterfell the brotherhood without banners has taken the twins, killed the Freys ourselves as vengeance for the Red Wedding, and offer our services in the wars to come. Tell him the Lord of Light has given us a great gift in him, and we will follow his command until the end of our days. I know you do not wish to join our cause, but see to this request and I will ensure you are rewarded. Will you do this, Sandor Clegane?"

The Hound picked up a piece of cold bacon from one of the Frey plates, crushing it between his fingers absentmindedly. "I'll do it but not for you. I owe the Starks."

"You owe them?"

"One or two in particular, yes." He nods to Beric, "I'll ride for Winterfell. But don't expect me to tell him all that Lord of Light horseshit."

Beric smiles serenely. "Thank you, Clegane."

He didn't want to stay long. After he was done taking a piss he went out and saddled up his horse for the journey north. At least he'd be alone for a while. The brotherhood were self-righteous little cunts. As he turned his horse toward the road he thought he could feel eyes watching him from a distance. Looking over his shoulder, however, he saw only the forest trees in the south blowing in the day's breeze as the river rumbled under the bridge behind him. Deciding it was nothing, he spurred his mount forward and began to gallop.

* * *

Arya

The oak tree was rough under her fingertips. The shadow of its canopy covered her well. Arya stood hidden in the woods overlooking the twins, watching as banners were unfurled over the tower's walls, replacing the Frey sigil with that of a blank one. She knew right away who these men were. She'd seen them as they entered the tower; watched as the one called Thoros of Myr found old Walder Frey's corpse in the river and drug him to shore; watched as Beric gave a rousing speech to his men about holding the twins. Her hand clutched Needle, remembering how these men betrayed her trust, sold Gendry to The Red Woman… They were on her list… That was, at least, until she saw the Hound.

It was impossible. Surely he was dead. He was supposed to be. She'd left him dying. No man could've survived that. He was begging for her to kill him! Confusion, horror, and… was it guilt Arya felt tighten in the pit of her stomach? She wanted to yell to him, to run out and scream his name, to tell him she was going with him wherever it was he was going— _that he didn't have to be alone!_

But her legs wouldn't budge. Her body was frozen stiff. All she could do was watch as he stood there, turned in her direction for a pause as though he knew she was out there… Then ride off…

Arya remained rooted to the spot until he was out of sight, holding back tears. She looked down at Needle and took a deep breath, reminding herself… She turned around and climbed onto a Destrier she'd stolen from the twin's stables. _There is no going back_ , she told herself over and over, making it a part of her mantra as she rides out of the trees in the opposite direction of the Hound…

* * *

Samwell

Samwell Tarly didn't ask for the chair he sat on to groan, but groan away it did. His cheeks flushed red, trying to grin away the embarrassing moment, but for all good that did. The old men that sat facing him were stone-faced. All of them wore many chains around their necks and attired faded, gray robes. Sam guessed each and every one of these maesters was well in their years though nowhere near as old as Aemon had been when he passed. Clearing his throat, Sam asks "Forgive me, but which one of you is the archmaester?"

None of them answer. All of their wizened, wrinkled faces pointed at him and none of them uttering a sound. Sam looked between them all growing more and more uncomfortable by the second. He cleared his throat again, "I was told that, uhm… That, uh, Archmaester Archybald wanted to… uhm… Is he, is he here?"

"Archmaester is under the weather currently." Remarks one of the maesters with a croak.

"I see, so then, uhm, will you guys be the ones who decide if I make it in or not then?"

None answered. Sam felt like he was talking to The Wall.

"You see, my name's Samwell Tarly and I've come all the way here from Castle Black to be trained as a maester."

"We have… the Lord Commander's… letter." Mumbled one of the older maesters in the center of the conclave, his eyes squinted so tightly he could've been sleeping.

"Right then you know why I'm here?" Sam raises an eyebrow.

No response.

"So, uhm, what do I need to do?"

For a minute Sam thought his question had fallen on deaf ears. But then one of the maesters raised his hand and picked up a scroll from the desk they all sat behind. As he flipped through its pages Sam admired the room he was in. They were overlooking the very city of Oldtown itself, at the very top of the giant, white tower where chambers full of books were kept for only the most experienced maesters. It was a shame really he couldn't get a better look at some of these books. He was almost positive there could be something about the white walkers in one of them…

"Not just anyone can join our order." Spoke the maester with the scroll, his beard as white as his eyebrows. "You must prove you are capable of handling the stress of study. For it is a laborious journey ahead of you. Once you begin you must never leave the tower, for it is forbidden. We know also of the… woman you bring with you. She is forbidden from entering the tower, for women are nothing but a hindrance on knowledge's growth... Understand?

"Right." Sam grimaced, "Can I at least go see them at the doors to the tower? That way neither of us are really breaking any rules, right?" Sam asked with a hopeful tone, yet the silence that answered him made his heart plummet. "Right, forbidden. Got it. What else is forbidden if you don't mind me asking?"

There was a rustle of disturbance between all ten of them, clearly ruffled by this.

"What? It was a simple question?"

"We heard the tone in your voice, young man." Grunted the squinty-eyed maester.

"Is sarcasm forbidden too? I'm sorry, I'm going to need to write this all down." Sam says, giggling at his own joke to try and lighten the mood yet it seemed to have the opposite effect on his crowd.

"No respect for maesters these days." Lamented one of the old men. "

He doesn't take us seriously." Says another.

"I don't see much with this one." Whispered the white haired maester.

"You don't see anything these days." Jokes another maester, getting a couple others to grunt with laughter.

Suddenly all of them are talking at once and Sam can't keep up. "He's too young." "He makes light of our order." "He's green as grass." "The watch has fallen on hard times to send a man such as this here."

"Excuse me, uhm…" Sam raised a finger up to try and get a word in but they weren't paying much attention to him now. Several were struggling to get up from their chairs. Sam knew he screwed up. He needed to fix this somehow. Clearing his throat one last time, Sam shouts over them, "EXCUSE ME!"

Like magic, all ten of them shut up. Even the squinty-eyed maester has both eyes wide open now in shock. "Now that I have your attention, I would like to tell all of you that I am more than bloody qualified for being a maester. I joined The Night's Watch because my father would have seen me dead if I didn't, and when I got there I was no man at all. But then I went north of The Wall. Can any of you say that? I traveled with Lord Commander Jeor Mormont to the Fist of the First Men where we fought against The Night's King and his army of the Dead. I only barely managed to survive that, but I did! Can any of you say that? I found my wife, Gilly and I protected them from a White Walker. I killed it with dragonglass! Can any of you say you've done that?! So excuse me but I won't sit here wasting MY time with a bunch of old natters that don't know how important it is that I become a maester!"

"Well said."

A voice behind Sam nearly caused him to topple out of his chair with surprise. Standing there was a man much younger than the rest of the maesters, though roughly just as old as Jeor Mormont had been. He had a grizzly, black goatee and black, expressionless eyes. His black hair was tied up in a pony-tail behind his head, and he wore black robes. Of all the maesters Sam had seen in his life, this man wore the most chains out of any of them. They all clinked and rattled with so much weight it wasn't unreasonable to think they were responsible for the hunch in his back. "Sorry this one's late, Samwell Tarly. As these old natters surely informed you, sickness and old age does not sleep well together."

"Archmaester Archybald?" Sam asks and the old, hunchbacked man nods with a smile, clapping him on the back. "Oh, uhm, sorry… How much of that did you hear?"

"All of it, Sam. All of it." Then the archmaester did something Sam never would've expected. He barked with laughter, slapping at his knee repeatedly, hooting with joy. "Look at their faces! _Hahahaha_!" The rest of the elderly maesters stifled uneasily, casting the newcomer grumpy glares. Sam was dumbfounded. _This_ was the archmaester?

"Samwell, come with me." The archmaester said, turning around to head for the doorway. The chair groaned again as Sam got up and followed at his side. The murmurs of disgruntled protests went unheard behind them. "You impressed me in there, Sam."

"Thank you, Archmaester Archybald."

"Please, Sam, call me Archie. We're going to be seeing a lot of each other from here on out and I'm getting old. I don't have time for pleasantries and honorifics. Speak freely, as if I were one of your brothers at The Wall."

 _Strange_ , Sam thought, _he didn't sound like he'd been sick at all_. "Did you test me back there, Arch—Archie? I-I mean, was that some kind of…?"

"Knew you'd catch on eventually. Ha-ha!" Laughed the Archmaester, turning to a door at the end of the small hall that Sam had never seen before now. Stairs circled upward, leading to the highest level. Beyond that was the tower's roof where the great fire burned endlessly. "I've got good news, Sam. You're going to be a maester. But first, tell me more about what you told the others. In detail. I want to know it all." The highest room was a cramped, stone enclosure with a single, circular wooden table in the center. A distinct, black candle was on this table. It was unlit and beside itself, shining in the darkness.

Sam told him everything. About Jon, the white walkers, their ability to raise the dead, dragonglass, the great battles that took place, and everything else he knew up until his departure. He left out Gilly, deciding best not to bring her up again and ruin his chance. "I haven't gotten word from Jon since. I don't even know if The Wall still stands or if my friends are dead. All I know is that he sent me here to learn what I can to defeat the biggest threat to Westeros we've ever seen."

The archmaester listened with quiet interest, frowning down at the glass candle before him. "The seven kingdoms fight each other like dogs while demons gather over our heads." He muttered, wiping his eyes. "Samwell, are you prepared for the tasks ahead?"

"Yes, Archmaester." Sam stood straighter, determined.

"To learn about the threat beyond The Wall would be to learn about the higher mysteries. Not very many maesters attempt these studies. It is in fact the one area of expertise I still feel I have much to learn in. This will be the first chain you will earn, but only after a great deal of reading, I'm afraid. And if you wish to read about the higher mysteries, well…" Archmaester Archybald gestured to the glass candle. "Once you've unlocked the mystery behind how to light this candle you will be ready to begin your training."

Sam raised his eyebrows, confused and bewildered. "This candle here?"

"Yes."

"Uhm… Well, it's made of dragonglass."

"Correct."

"Glass can't catch fire."

"Well you better get to work then, Hahahaha!" The archmaester cackled, "And be quick about it. You have one day and one night to work it out and if you haven't by then, well, I'm afraid it was nice to meet you!"

"W-Wait, I only have that much time?! H-How can I?"

"I don't know, Samwell! Well, I do _know_ , ha-ha, but that's the test isn't it? I'll see you tomorrow, Sam! Don't leave the room unless you wish to forfeit. I'll have food brought to you. Something tells me you'll need it, Hahahaha!" And with that the old man left him, slamming the door shut and leaving Samwell alone with the glass candle.

* * *

Euron

The saltwife's ass was plump and juicy the way only Westerosi asses were, not like the saltwives he'd find in Essos who were all too skinny from starvation to supply a decent handle for his hands to grab while they rode him. This one, a pale, white thing with dark hair and gaunt, lifeless eyes, she didn't ride as well as some he'd had in his day, but she gave him more pleasure than some of the others who liked to cry and beg for release while he fucked them.

The Salt Throne grinded underneath their weight, digging into Euron's ass-cheeks rather uncomfortably. He spanked the wench and snarled "Are you sleeping? Faster!" into her ear. The girl obliged, rocking faster back and forth across his lap, her naked body bare for the entire hall to witness. There were at least twenty armed guards that surrounded him day in and day out, all of them got to watch. Euron wasn't shy. Let the world know of how big and unmerciful his cock was!

The doors to the hall opened and a Greyjoy soldier entered the room accompanied by several of his first mates. He was a captain of a ship, so he commanded the respect of his men but not the respect of the King of the Iron Islands. Euron had no respect for any man but himself. "What do I owe this interruption?" Euron asks before the man can speak, grinning at his reaction to the woman riding him.

"My King, I've come from the shipping yards with news."

"Better be good, I grow weary waiting." Euron sighs, running his hand up to his saltwife's breast and giving it a squeeze.

The captain looked uncomfortable. "We simply do not have enough trees to work with, my lord. We only have one hundred ships built and the islands are barren."

Euron scowled at the man. "What are our words?!"

"We do not sow!"

"We take what is ours! If we do not have enough wood to build then we will sail inland and take more. There is a huge forest just east of our shores that's ripe for axes!"

"But the Crannogmen…" The captain licks his lips nervously. "We would be invading on their lands."

Euron stopped the woman on top of him, frowning at the captain. "I do not need a coward heading the fleet. I will go myself. You won't be needing your ship either. Or your life, I think. Men!" All twenty of his guards responded at once, engulfing the captain and seizing him before he could release his sword from its scabbard.

"Curse you, Euron Greyjoy!"

"Throw him to the sharks." Euron laughed, watching as the Captain's men, all loyal, drew their weapons and charged. As the battle ensued the emotionless wench cried out as Euron grabbed her hair and made her watch. She saw all of the captain's men go down, overwhelmed by Euron's guard. Slaughtered like pigs, the guards kept stabbing long after it was needed, enjoying the bloodshed and laughing about it afterward.

When Damphair entered, saw the carnage, and noticed Euron with his saltwife, the old man cleared his throat loudly for all to hear. The men stopped laughing and backed up to make way for him, for Damphair was the priest of the Drowned God, whom all of them respected. "Euron Greyjoy! I bring a message from a raven come this morning!"

"Ah! Is it from our dear niece and nephew? I would so like to see them again." Euron sighed, appearing disinterested and he bucked his woman into motion. He cared not what the priest thought of his actions, for he was their king now and they would abide by his whims.

"Your brother, Victarion. He expresses frustration that he was not informed of the Kingsmoot."

Personally, Euron was glad his younger brother never showed. It would have been a lot harder to win against him over Yara and Theon. "Does he wish to contest me for the throne? I wish him the best of luck."

Damphair hands him the letter and he receives it impatiently. "I've landed in Volantis where we have seized control." He reads out-loud with a drawl. "Word from Dragon's Bay is the Dragon Queen has left with a sizeable fleet for Westeros. I will take the mother of dragons and make her my wife while you grow fat on your chair." Euron tosses the letter aside without finishing the rest and kicks the saltwife off from him. As she falls the priest witnesses Euron's member dangling and turns away out of respect. Euron stands and tugs his pants up, cursing repeatedly under his breath.

"Your brother is closer to her than we are" Damphair says flatly.

"He made that clear! I don't need to be told the obvious! I need more ships! Now!"

"Am I correct in understanding we shall be setting sail then?"

"Yes! As soon as possible! I want every Ironborn man, woman and child out in those woods cutting down trees and building me my fleet!" Euron pulls out his sword and faces his men, I will kill my brother for his treachery! I will kill my niece and nephew for stealing my ships! And when I find that dragon queen I will fuck her until she bleeds!"

* * *

Daenerys

It was finally happening.

 _My fleet has set sail for Westeros_. Standing aboard her flagship, _The Red Wind_ , she could see hundreds of her ships in every direction except for ahead, where only the ocean stretched for as far as the eye could reach. Thousands of men and women were helping them sail from all parts of the world. The Dothraki she was especially impressed with. This was the first time in history these people had set foot off of land to cross the Narrow Sea. Their bravery was truly inspiring, and whenever one got sick and needed rest, Dany made sure they were accommodated. Then there were the Unsullied, who seemed like they were born for their role and controlled their ships with steadfast resolve. The men and ships given to her from the Martells and Tyrells were commanded by strong captains whom Dany had only met with once before departure where they'd pledged their allegiance to her. Then there was Yara's fleet. She was truly an astounding commander and Daenerys thought to make her Master of Ships while she ruled, though their arrangement already had her sitting on the Salt Throne when all was over.

Daenerys, Mother of Dragons, walked along the firm, wooden deck of her ship to her cabin, smiling at every working hand along the way while her handmaiden Missandei followed in her footsteps. Her cabin was a spacious room with crimson walls and flooring, the sigil of House Targaryen draped along a banner behind the councilor's table where, sitting in a circle, were her most trusted allies.

"Ah, Daenerys, we were just talking about you." Greeted Tyrion Lannister with a friendly smile. He was seated between the round, balding Varys and the battle hardened and serious Greyworm of the Unsullied.

"Good things, I hope." Dany smiled back. Of all her followers and advisers, the Dwarf known as Tyrion had so far been one of her biggest assets yet. He came out of nowhere for her, a gift from Ser Jorah Mormont. She had initially decided to give him a chance to prove himself, yet now she considered him one of the people she went to first for council. Especially now.

"We were discussing whether or not you should take your fleet directly into King's Landing or if we should instead attack by land, Your Grace." Tyrion explain, gesturing to a map on the table of Westeros and a map beside it of Essos. Dany approached and saw they had marked where they were in the sea, though the fact that they would be on the Essos map for quite some time was disheartening. Tyrion continued, "We will reach King's Landing within a fortnight. By any luck my sister will have no idea we are coming. But we have to operate on the assumption that she will know by then, therefore attacking head-on with all of our ships seems a foolish option."

"Why is it foolish?" Greyworm asks in his deep, monotone voice.

Tyrion looks exasperated to have to explain but explains anyway, "In the battle of Blackwater Bay, I was the one defending the walls of King's Landing while Stannis Baratheon attacked with his ships. My sister, who is now the Queen of the seven kingdoms, knows where the Mad King kept caches of wildfire underneath the city in the catacombs. I'm willing to bet she didn't use all of it up destroying the Sept. If we sail into Blackwater the same thing I did to Stannis will happen to us. We could stand to lose half the fleet or more by attacking so predictably. Which is why I offer a solution. Send the Dothraki onto land around the south of the city and have them join forces with the Tyrell and Martell forces that will be waiting outside the walls and blocking off any escape routes or incoming enemy reinforcements. Use them to attack from the west while our ships invade from the east and Cersei will be cornered." The room listened to him speak and when he was done all were quiet, making Tyrion flush. "What?"

"How many battles have you been in?" Greyworm asks him.

"A few." Tyrion says defensively, "Why?"

"You speak as though you know battles. Yet when you're in a battle, plans change. Things go wrong. We must be ready."

"We all agree on that." Tyrion says, "Which is why I think dividing our forces and attacking the city from multiple fronts grants us the highest chance of success. What about you, Varys?"

"You are both right. The wildfire Queen Cersei possesses might be her greatest threat against us. If used correctly the fire can spread across the sea and all of us would burn. If used incorrectly the entire city could burn before we ever reach the Iron Throne" Varys looked to their Queen then, and said "If we are to attack King's Landing before anything else, I say we follow Tyrion's idea. The Dothraki are all but useless on the sea during a fight. Have them rush the west while we take the east and you fly over it all on your dragons."

"Tell me more about this wildfire?" Daenerys asks, taking a seat across from Tyrion while Missandei stood beside her. "Varys, you told me Cersei used it to take the throne for herself. I don't understand…"

"Wildfire burns just as hot as Dragon's fire, and is just as deadly. Alchemists discovered it a long time ago, and it is rumored they used blood of a dragon to create the concoction though the alchemists have never revealed the secret recipe." Tyrion recites from memory, wondering if the alchemist in king's landing was capable of producing more.

"Fire cannot hurt a dragon." Dany says, "But my men will be harmed if we underestimate Cersei. I do not wish to see anyone, even the innocent inside the city, be harmed. Before the battle I would very much like to meet your sister, Tyrion."

Tyrion cast her a sideways smirk. "You say that now…"

"If not hurting the innocent is what you desire you best let your Dothraki know of this before we hand them over to the Tyrells and Martells for once they are on their own in the battle…" Varys paused to sigh, "I fear the Dothraki are savages before saints, My Queen."

"No longer under my rule will they act as they once did. I will see to this." Dany nods to Varys, appreciating his council as well. The Spider was once her enemy when he was under King Robert's command, but Tyrion had advised her to trust him, for he was the reason Dany had allies in Westeros now. That alone had proven him worthy of a second chance. After-all, Ser Barristan Selmy had once followed King Robert as well as her own father, the Mad King. It was said Varys also followed under her father's rule but she had yet to bring it up with him. When she had asked why Tyrion trusted him, he told her he was the one who helped rescue him and bring him to Essos, which in turn is the reason he is here at all and not "Drunk in a gutter".

"I wish to speak with Tyrion alone now," Daenerys says, "Varys, thank you for your wisdom and everything else you've brought to me."

"You are the true Queen Westeros has been in dire need of, Your Grace." Varys says, bowing graciously before sliding out of the room.

"Greyworm," Dany says as her faithful soldier stands proudly from the table, "Your strength is what we need now. Offer any help you can to those feeling unsure of themselves. I want every man ready for the wars to come."

"Yes, my Queen!" Greyworm says, bowing and exiting. Missandei watched him leave, biting her lip as he cast her a longing glance before disappearing out on deck.

"You wished to speak with me, your Grace?" Tyrion asks.

Dany looks to Missandei and tells her she can go. She asks if she's sure and Dany nods. The handmaiden bows out of the cabin. When she was gone, Dany looked to Tyrion and released a massive sigh of exhaustion mixed with relief. Tyrion smiled. "It's stressful, isn't it?"

"Am I really ready for this?" Dany asks, worry written all over her face and her words.

"We wouldn't be here if you weren't ready." Tyrion gets up and moves around the table to her, picking up a tankard of wine and an empty goblet as he says, "When you took off on your dragon I thought to myself, now there's a Queen I can follow until the end of my days. But you weren't ready to invade Westeros. Then you returned, with an even larger army than what you had when you left. You showed restraint and intelligence, taking the master's ships instead of burning them all as you could have. That's when I knew you were ready for this. Don't let your doubts get to you now, not when you've come this far. We have two weeks on the open water. My professional recommendation would be to enjoy it while it lasts. After this, I doubt we'll find much peace." He hands her a golden goblet of wine.

She receives it, a smile cracking on her lips. "I suppose it can't hurt to indulge every now and then." Dany says as she sips from the cup.

"See!" Tyrion grinned, taking a goblet for himself and gulping three huge mouthfuls down his throat. "A good queen knows when to trust her advisers and this is something I am an expert at. Let us drink and forget about war for a night!"

They clinked their goblets together, chuckling. "Just don't let me see you vomit and ruin this moment." She teased.

"My drinking is not a problem you need concern yourself with, your Grace. My tolerance is higher than the Mountain!" He finishes his goblet, "My sister also has quite a drinking problem if I remember correctly. She was probably drunk when she blew up the Sept."

"Your nephew, King Tommen. He was killed in the fire?" Dany asks.

"No. Word from Varys is he fell from his window in the Red Keep. Jumped, most likely, after realizing his insane mother had just murdered a chunk of his kingdom and his own wife. Tommen was a good lad, and if there's one thing I look forward to most is seeing the look in Cersei's eyes when she realizes I've come back to take everything from her just as she took everything from me."

"Tell me about them, you brother and sister." Dany says, leaning back and taking another sip of wine.

"Jaime? He's the best man I've ever known." Tyrion says plainly, reaching for the tankard and pouring himself a second cup. "Was once the greatest swordsman in the seven kingdoms until his hand was chopped off. Now he has a golden hand and a golden heart. If we can, I would prefer we don't kill him… But if he's as loyal to our sister as he was once then we can count on him being there in the battle. Even with one hand he is a master with a sword. I would like if we could take him alive and give him a chance to join us. My brother is an honorable man despite slaying your father. You might not believe it but Jaime's actions that day were justified, if not reasonable. Your father was called the Mad King for a reason, and Jaime saved the lives of every man, woman, and child inside the capital when he put his sword through your father's back…"

Daenerys always hated hearing about her father's madness, but she understood what her Hand said was true all the same. Viserys had been a cruel man, a sadistic man, but a pitiable man in the end. Tyrion spoke as though he looked up to his brother and the only brother she could even consider to look up to would be the one she never knew, Rhaegar. "I will give your brother a chance to join us but as Greyworm said, in battle anything can happen."

"I greatly appreciate it all the same." Tyrion says, toasting her with his cup before swallowing another gulp. He sighed as he pulled back, wincing, "Cersei on the other hand can burn from dragon fire. Since the day I was born she made sure to make my life a living hell. She tried to kill me because she thought I was the one who murdered her son, Joffrey. To this day I believe she has men out there bringing her dwarven heads claiming to be Tyrion Lannister's." He grins sadly as he says this and Dany feels an immense swell of pity for her Hand and contempt for his sister. "She once had one redeemable quality to her and that was her love for her children. But all three of them are dead now and the last was of her own doing. She is no longer worthy of mercy, respect, or dignity. She is a monster that needs to be put down."

Dany reached out and touched his shoulder comfortingly. He looked up at her, his eyes glistening, and saw her warm smile. "You will have your revenge, my friend. I swear to you. When we take the Iron Throne, you will be there at my side to witness Cersei's fall."

"You will be riding a dragon, if I'm not mistaken, your Grace." Tyrion grins, "I'm afraid I will be on a ship or storming the walls when you take the red keep."

"No." Dany stood then, looking down on him but seeing him as her equal. "When I ride for the red keep you will ride with me."

If Tyrion wasn't already getting tipsy, perhaps he would've kept a hold of his cup. Instead it slipped from his fingers and crashed on the floor, spilling what little wine was left inside over the crimson rug. "Ride with you? Daenerys, your Grace, forgive me but… I can't ride a dragon!" He laughed, realizing this was all a jest. She was pulling his chain. He bent over, chuckling and picking up his goblet while shaking his hairy head. "A great jest, your Grace. I apologize for spilling the wine, I'll have it cleaned right away."

"Tyrion Lannister, you would know if I wasn't serious." Dany says, smiling wide. "Are you afraid of them?"

"Afraid?" Tyrion's voice cracks, looking up into her eyes and realizing this was real. "Surely you can't think a man my size wouldn't fall off? I'm sorry but… I don't see how I could realistically…"

"You'll hang onto me." She says, brushing off his concerns. "I wouldn't have you ride a dragon on your own. It took me some time to get used to it, I wouldn't expect you to be ready by the time we reach King's Landing. Perhaps eventually, if you're up for it."

"Your Grace, I truly appreciate this honor but…" Tyrion looks down in shame, "I just don't know if I can…"

"Varys told me you went down and unlocked Viserion and Rhaegal from their chains, alone and unafraid."

"I was drunk as well, in case he left that part out. When it was over I told him to punch me in the face if I ever did anything that stupid again. I'm pretty sure climbing on board Drogon, whether alone or with you, will warrant that punch." Tyrion sets the empty goblet on the table and runs a hand over his tired face and bushy beard. "As much as I hate to point it out I am a half-man, Daenerys… If it flies too fast, if I lose my balance or my grip—one mistake and I'm free falling to my death."

"I won't let that happen. You can trust me." Dany says, "I asked you if I was ready and you told me without a shadow of a doubt that I was and I believed you. Believe me when I tell you that you are ready. I need you at my side when I take the Iron Throne."

Tyrion admires her beauty, and feels a stirring in his heart. Blushing, he says "When I was a child… I always dreamed of riding a dragon."

"So did I," Dany grins, sipping the last of her goblet, "Does this mean you accept?"

Tyrion bows his head and nods, choking on his own words. "I may be the first dwarf to ever ride a dragon. My father would be amazed."

* * *

Jaime

When Cersei sat the Iron Throne, a tension filled the crowded room that put everyone watching on edge, including the Queen's brother. Qyburn was announcing that any and all slander of the queen will be punishable by death, and tells the Queensguard to let the accused in. Jaime watched with batted breath as twenty men and women are brought into the throne room, their hands shackled and their faces bruised. All of them were starving, dirt-ridden, and poor; folk from flea bottom if Jaime was correct to judge. They were all lined up and brought to their knees before the Queen. The last one to enter was a little boy, no older than Tommen was.

"The people you see before you today stand accused of slandering the Queen's name. Today they will face her judgement!" Qyburn speaks to the on-looking crowds. Many of them look terrified and concerned. Jaime looked to his sister, knowing already what she must be planning to do.

"Let them speak." Cersei says, "I will know what each and every one of them has been saying."

One of the Queensguard steps up and kicks a man on his knees in the back, pushing him forward. The man, balding and covered in disease ridden marks on his face, fearfully cringes and cries out for help from the crowd. "Somebody do something! I've done nothing wrong!"

"Tell the Queen your slanderous words and then you will receive your punishment." Qyburn tells him in an almost soothing way.

"I-I said nothing slanderous! I never said anything, m'lords! Please, you have to believe me!"

"Cersei, is this really necessary?" Jaime leans in and whispers in his sister's ear. She doesn't look away from the groveling peasant before her, even as he says "We can't prove these people did anything wrong. Let them go and prove you can also show mercy."

"My little birds never lie, your Grace." Was all Qyburn said and it was all he needed to say.

"There will be no mercy for liars and criminals." Cersei replies, flicking a nod to the Mountain who walked up to the groveling man and seized him by his throat, tossing him backward into the crowd. "If no one wants to confess then I shall move straight ahead to the judgement."

"Your Grace, please! My son is innocent!" Cried one of the women standing accused, gripping the little boy's shoulder fiercely while tears rolled down her cheeks. "He doesn't understand anything, he only repeats what he hears! He never meant any harm!"

"And what of you? His mother?" Cersei asks, raising an eyebrow. "You were also heard slandering my name."

The woman held her tongue for a moment, and Jaime wished she'd stayed that way. "Aye, I'm guilty. But not my son. Please, your Grace. Spare my son's life!"

"The guilty do not negotiate under my rule." Cersei says, "Tell me what it was that you called me?"

"Your Grace, please, my son."

"Tell me what you slandered your Queen's name with and I will consider sparing the boy." Cersei says, rolling her eyes with a smirk.

Jaime could sense this was a trap, but what choice did the poor woman have?

"I called you what everyone in the city calls you now. The Mad Queen." The woman's voice trembled with fear.

"I see, and what would The Mad Queen do if she heard you calling her this? What do you think would happen?" Cersei asks curiously.

"Please, spare my son. He only repeated what he heard at home! He never meant anything by it! He doesn't even understand what it means!"

"Let's let him speak for himself." Cersei says, "Come forth child."

The boy was pushed forward by the Mountain, who loomed over him like a shadow of death. Qyburn stepped up to him and said, "Speak boy, do not be afraid. Only the truth can save you. What did you say about our Queen?"

"I… I don't know… I don't remember." The boy whispered, his eyes bulging with terror and confusion as his mother wept behind him. "I was with my friends and one of them asks me what I thought about the Queen and I told him all I know is my mom says she's mad."

"Does our Queen appear mad to you?" Qyburn asks.

"She scares me." The boy admits, close to tears.

"You've committed a great crime, yet you haven't even realized it. Your Grace, there is an argument to be had for sparing him…" Qyburn said as he smiled down at the young lad.

"Then anyone can claim ignorance to their crimes." Cersei counters, "No, I've heard enough. Mount their heads on spikes along the battlements for all to see."

An uproar of protests burst from the accused, and the crowd. The Mountain drew his longsword as did the rest of the Queensguard... As did Jaime, whose body moved on its own, standing between the Mountain and the boy in defiance. The room filled with gasps. The crowd stopped yelling. Cersei stood from her throne, glaring down at her brother. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I won't have you murder an innocent child for some imagined crimes!" Jaime shouts back, "Stand down your guards! Listen to reason, Cersei! I beg of you!"

"Please! I don't want to die!" Cries the kid beneath him.

All eyes were on the Queen. Her lips tightened with anger, her fists clenched, yet her stature was unwavering. "Do not make me repeat myself. Ser Jaime Lannister, I take you mean to volunteer. Go ahead, do your duty to your Queen. Unless you wish to share in their consequences?" The mountain stepped closer, gigantic compared to Jaime, and with both hands gripping his sword.

Jaime knew all was lost then. His sister would not change her mind. She means to kill him if he stands in her way now. "Cersei, you know I can't do that. I won't."

"You will." She says, "I command you to bring me their heads, starting with the child's."

"And if I refuse?!" Jaime spits, tears stinging his eyes.

"You don't want to refuse." Cersei threatens, her own eyes as dry as her tone.

Slowly, Jaime turned and faced the small boy on the floor. The young, confused child stared up at him with fear that made him sick. As he lifted his sword with his only hand, Jaime was reminded of the young boy he once pushed out of a window in Winterfell for spying on him and his sister… _The things we do for love_ , he'd said.

"I'm sorry." Jaime whispers before he swings his blade to the song of screams.

* * *

Bran

It was hardly any warmer inside of Castle Black's quarters. Bran had a bed now, and sat nearly hidden underneath furs while Meera bustled around the room preparing food for him. She didn't seem nearly as worried about The Wall's crack as he was. When she brought him a plate with hard bread and a steaming bowl of soup, he thanked her and she sat at the edge of his bed, wiping her forehead.

"We can't leave." Bran told her, staring at his food with no hunger inside him.

Meera frowned at him, "What do you mean? Of course we can. That's why we came here, is to leave."

"You saw how The Wall started to break as soon as we passed through it."

"It's not starting to break! That wasn't your fault, Bran. It was only a coincidence and you know it."

"I don't know it. I don't know nearly as much as I'd hoped for at this point…"

"You know your brother is a Targaryen." Meera points out, "You have to tell him. He needs to know."

"Why? Why is that more important than making sure The Wall doesn't come down?"

"Because you saw it in the visions, Bran! My father used to tell Jojen and me that the weirwood trees were special and that only the three-eyed raven was able to use them properly. You saw your half-brother being born, a secret no one else in the world knows except you and my father now. If you don't tell him who knows what might happen! It could be even worse if we don't leave."

"Then how do you explain that crack?"

"The Wall is just getting old. Ice cracks, doesn't it?" Meera looked down, not even believing her own argument. "We just don't know, Bran. But what we do know is that Jon is important for bringing down the white walkers, and that being a Targaryen must have something to do with it if that's what the visions have shown you. My father was there the day Jon was born. It could be that he knows more about this. We need to leave, now, before the long night comes."

Bran knew she was right, but didn't feel comfortable with this. He ate his food, thinking about The Wall and debating whether or not he should go while Meera went down to bed in another room.

The next day, Dolorous Ed came to see them off and wish them well. He gave them a horse for them to share, with Bran gripping onto Meera's waist to keep himself steady.

"Thank you, Lord Commander." Bran said, "I will let Jon know The Wall still stands and of what you did for us."

"It was no trouble, I only ask that you make sure Jon sends us more men and provisions soon. We run low up here quickly, even with less than fifty men to feed…" Dolorous Ed sighs.

As Bran heads out into the cold, blowing snowstorm with Meera controlling the reigns, he looks back up at the Wall for one last glance. The fissure that had rippled down from the top to the bottom in a jagged line, threatening to split the wall in half, was ominous and made Bran want to turn back... He prayed no more harm would come to it as they galloped south for Winterfell.


	2. The Prince That Was Promised

**A Game of Thrones**

**Season 7**

**The Fanfiction**

By Wemoleitch

Letter from the Author:

I do not own Game of Thrones or the "A Song of Ice and Fire" series. This is fanfiction. Obviously.

Also, this story is rated M for a reason. If you're not comfortable with graphic violence, sex, or nudity… then what the hell are you doing reading a Game of Thrones fanfic?

** Episode Two **

** The Prince that was Promised **

* * *

Victarion

The burning smell of fire was in the air.

The sea breeze carried embers of Volantis's destruction in the Iron Victory's wake. The massive war ship was one of the largest of its kind. The Kraken of House Greyjoy was displayed upon every sail and even the front of the ship itself, structured in the sea monster's likeness, to send fear into the hearts of its victims. Volantis just three days past learned this fear when Victarion's fleet appeared on the southern horizon. They pleaded for mercy after a feeble attempt to fight them off. The people of Volantis had numbers, but the Ironborn had strength and fury and the Drowned God on their side. Victarion showed no mercy, declaring the city theirs and commanding anyone with information on the Dragon Queen to come forth. Not many stepped up to the challenge, and none had anything Victarion already didn't know.

So the city burned and he was done with the place. They'd sailed far from the south to come here and stop Daenerys Targaryen before she could reach Westeros, yet to no avail. She'd left Slaver's Bay, renaming it Dragon's Bay, with what some were calling the largest fleet of ships the world has ever seen. Victarion ignored such things. No fleet could stand against the Iron Victory's. Victarion was undefeated in naval combat, and planned on remaining so.

Victarion Greyjoy stood well over six feet tall, weighing in at over 250lbs, and his scar-streaked face would be enough to scare anyone let alone his size. His black beard was long and braided, his hair swept back and blowing in the wind. His armor he wore at all times, the kraken helm he wore in combat was curled under his armpit in one hand while the other gripped the railing. Behind him his motley crew of mutants were laughing and jesting with each other like children. Victarion disapproved of such antics, but after such a fortuitous invasion he felt they deserved some time to enjoy themselves. Ratfly had his arms around two bruised saltwives who were once prostitutes in the city and were now his personal concubines. He laughed as he whispered perversions in their ear and when they tried to fight him off he would beat them with his iron fists down into his cabin, laughing nonsensically all the way. Jharax and Hulbert were locked in a game of cards, drinking every time they lost and getting rowdier by the minute. Then there was Strong Belwas. The massive eunuch was seated near the mast of the Iron Victory with his legs sticking out over the edge, his fat fingers digging through a bowl of spicy honey-locusts. He wore little clothing, and had no shame in his rotund self, nor the hundreds of long scars that covered him head to toe. Victarion had only recently picked the mute up, and he was still a mystery to him. All he knew of Strong Belwas was his inane ability to fight and win.

Then there was the Red Woman.

The High Priestess of Volantis Kinvara watched as the great flames waged by Victarion and his fleet burned high into the sky, clouding it with pillars of black smoke. From here he could not see her face, and wondered if she was crying. With a smile, Victarion approaches her, crossing the deck of his ship while his men all hollered with good cheer around him. As he came upon her she turned to look at him and he saw her face was dry and her expression cold. "How does it feel?" He asks, "To worship the fire all your life only to watch your home burn?"

"You would be mistaken in thinking you know anything about me. Volantis was never my home, Victarion Greyjoy." The red woman responds, her voice calm and unafraid. "My home has been gone for longer than you know."

"Well that sounds like a story." Victarion says, crossing his arms and leaning against a mast. "You convinced my men to spare you and bring you aboard my ship. What is it you can offer me? I have no need for another saltwife, even one as radiant as you. Your beauty will get you far with my men, but not with me. Can't blame them though, can yah? I can't imagine the last time Ratfly had a decent pair of legs around him."

The red woman only stared at him, her face unchanging in its blankness. Victarion felt a stirring of unease all of the sudden he couldn't explain. "So tell me, what is it I need you for?"

" _Tell me_ , Victarion, have you ever spoken with your Drowned God?"

Was this a trick? "No man can speak to a God. But I have heard the Drowned God's whispers when I was young. The Drowned God is the one true God."

"That is where you are wrong." She smiled then, and the uneasiness in his stomach squirmed. "The Lord of Light is the one true God and he has chosen you, Victarion Greyjoy. I have seen you in the flames."

"What is this nonsense?" He asks, but she goes on before he can say more.

"You will find Daenerys Stormborn and make her your queen. She will be your key to the Iron Throne, where you will rule the seven kingdoms." Lady Kinvara steps closer to him, "I have the Lord of Light's will, and can grant you great power and council in the wars to come. Allow me to join you, and let both the Lord of the Light and the Drowned God be one in the same as it should be, for those whispers you heard when you were a child were from the same God that has sent me here to you this day."

Victarion was quiet, considering her words with a dark look. "What power does a woman have that I can't?" He asks, and her expression changes to that of cold anger. "Tell me in plain words, red woman, or I'll throw you overboard myself and watch you race the sharks back to shore."

"I can see the future, Victarion Greyjoy, you fool." She says, getting close enough now to touch his gnarled and war-beaten face. Her fingers were warm, almost burning to feel. Victarion grabbed her arm before she could pull away.

"Call me a fool again, woman, I warn you…"

"You will not harm me. I know where Daenerys is going, who she is with, how many she has, and I know what you will need to convince the Dragon Queen to marry you. But you will need me if you wish to accomplish any of these things. Without me, you and your fleet will be burned by dragon fire before any of you can do a thing. Let me show you."

She led him inside of Victarion's cabin. He followed her, feeling a strange sense of purpose in his steps. Something about this Red Woman infuriated him, yet enticed him all the same. Inside his cabin, Victarion watched as Kinvara lit several candles and lines them up on the captain's table, five in a row. Watching her, it seemed as if she was able to light them with only her finger tips… yet such magic couldn't exist, surely. She beckoned Victarion closer and he does so, the two of them peering into the fire.

Quickly Victarion feels like a fool and thinks to tell her this was a convincing trick but he would rather watch her swim than watch candles dance. As he opened his mouth, preparing to look away, the flames changed, as if some wind was giving them a new shape. Victarion's mouth dropped, his mind going blank. At his side the red woman smiles seductively and says "There it is. The dragon that will burn you all to ash. There she is, riding atop it."

He could see it all. The great dragon in the flames was breathing down death upon the Iron Victory. It was all true. "This… this is magic…" He mutters in disbelief.

"This is what waits for you, Victarion Greyjoy, unless you let me help you."

* * *

Davos

When Davos was summoned for a war council early that wintery morning, he rushed out of his room without delay. It was a good feeling, having a commander he could respect and follow again. Stannis was flawed in so many ways, allowing his own daughter to be burned at the stake. Jon's faults were that of his father's, too honest for his own good. Jon had called his Bannermen from all across the north to discuss their future and Davos was sure he would need to be present. Yet when he arrived he was not as early as he'd hoped. The Lords were already gathered in the great hall around the high table, Jon in the center. On either side of him was the wildling Tormund Giantsbane, Lady Lyanna Mormont of Bear Island, Lords Cerwyn, Manderly, and Glover, and finally Petyr Baelish, though he was the only one standing. Sansa was not here, Davos noticed at once, wondering if she was still upset with Jon.

Lord Manderly was in the middle of a speech when Davos took a seat at the table next to where Littlefinger stood. "They're calling her the Mad Queen. She used wildfire to destroy the Sept of Baelor and murdered her son, King Tommen, in order to take the throne."

"Are you positive the king was murdered as you say? Were you there to witness it?" Littlefinger asks.

Lord Manderly shot Lord Baelish a distrustful glare. "Word has spread all throughout the seven kingdoms, in case you hadn't heard. Or do you claim the Mad Queen is innocent?"

"The Mad Queen Cersei murdered countless people, but that does not necessarily mean she murdered her son, Lord Manderly." Lord Baelish tells him, "Still, I was not there either and cannot say for certain. The fact remains that Cersei will pose a problem; A problem with only one solution."

"What solution is that?" Davos asks, raising his eyebrow.

"We must prepare for war." Littlefinger says with a look to Jon, "It is the only logical choice, Your Grace."

"You do not decide if we got to war! Only the King in the North makes that decision!" Snaps Lady Mormont fiercely. Everyone, including Littlefinger, was silenced by the little lady's presence as she glared around the table at them all. "I fear no queen too cowardly to fight her own battles! If Jon wants to go to war, then so be it, but let us not forget our one true enemy beyond The Wall!"

"Nevertheless, the Lannisters have one of the largest armies in the realm, not to mention the capital walls to defend them." Lord Manderly says wearily, "It would be a fool's errand to try and attack them as Lord Baelish suggests."

"I never said to attack, only to go to war. It is likely Cersei will make the first move, I only express caution. Be prepared for war when the time comes. I know Cersei personally, she will not let you take the north without a fight." Petyr looked serious, not a sign of a smile on his face, as he talked directly to Jon without acknowledging the others.

"The Mad Queen is dangerous!" Lord Glover blurts out, "Who knows how much wildfire she might still possess! We must take it from her before she can use it against us after we've already lost so many! We cannot let her invade the north without a fight! We should go to war!"

"Enough." Davos grunts, glaring at them all. "You all shout back and forth without letting your King have his say! Calm yourselves and let Jon speak!"

The quiet king nodded to Davos, raising his hands up so that his elbows rested on the table while crossing his fingers together. "Did Queen Cersei play a part in the execution of my father?" He looked to Littlefinger as he asks this.

"Without a doubt. I was there that day, your Grace. We had all advised King Joffrey to send Eddard Stark to The Wall as punishment for his supposed treachery. Yet the Queen often counseled the King while they were alone, and it is my personal belief she encouraged her son to call for your father's head. Joffrey was only a boy, but he always adhered to his mother." He smiled as he finished speaking.

Jon looks down at his hands, remembering the day he found out about his father's execution… He'd nearly deserted The Wall that day, if not for his brothers. "If we have learned of the new Queen then by now she has heard of us."

"This is true," Davos said, "I feel I need to remind everyone in this room that the real war isn't with the Mad Queen. It's with the army of the dead." Lady Mormont shot him an approving nod as he said this while Littlefinger rolled his eyes. "Instead of fighting amongst ourselves like we've been doing for years, I advise talking to her first. Let's see if she's willing to listen to reason. Perhaps we can form some kind of an alliance between the north and south without any bloodshed?"

"I would rather die than break bread with the Lannisters!" Lord Cerwyn growled with murmurs of agreement from both Lords Manderly and Glover. "The Mad Queen isn't just a title! She is not to be trusted! We must gather our men and prepare for battle!"

"Silence you old fools." Lady Mormont snaps, "I agree with Ser Davos! Our war is with the army of the dead that comes for us all! If the Mad Queen wants a fight then we will give her one, but if a truce will bring our armies together then I say we give it a shot! We stand together or we die alone!"

"Careful she-bear," Lord Glover narrows his eyes, "I have little patience for being talked down to."

"Enough." Jon says and they all fall silent, watching him. "We will not go to war unnecessarily. I will speak with Queen Cersei myself. Send her a raven, let her know the King of the North invites her to Winterfell. I would unite the realm with her help." He looked up at Littlefinger, who clearly disapproved. "If she will not accept terms of peace then I will not give her a second chance."

"Neither will she, your Grace." Lord Baelish replies.

"I will send the raven at once," Davos nods, unable to stop the relieved smile that spread under his beard. "Will that be all?"

"Before you go, Davos, I have an assignment for you. Lords, I bid the rest of you farewell and offer you all of Winterfell for shelter while the storm blows."

Once Jon's Bannermen had shuffled out of the hall and Davos was alone with the King, Jon asked if he would like to have a drink.

"On occasion I will drink." Davos says, "It is a little too early for me, your Grace."

"I know I could use one." Jon Snow sighs heavily.

Davos says, "Though I hear a good drink can loosen a man's nerves and give him the courage to do what needs to be done."

"Then I should be known from here on as the Drunk King of the North if that's what it takes." Jon jests and Davos chuckles. "Ser Davos, I asked you here on a serious matter yet I don't know exactly how to ask you."

"Whatever you need, your Grace." Davos assures him, "I'm here to serve."

"Before you arrived we were discussing another threat, the Ironborn. Euron Greyjoy, the last king's brother, has taken the Salt Throne for himself and has launched ships inland. Reports say they mean to attack the Neck. Lords Glover, Cerwyn, and Manderly were especially concerned with this, and similar speeches of war were given. Yet I did not make a decision then, I have made one now. You are to go to Euron Greyjoy, in person, before he can cause too much harm. Offer him peace, an alliance, in return for his compliance with the North he can have the Dreadfort, now that the Boltons are no more. We need his men on our side for the war to come, not stabbing us from behind. Are you willing to do this, Ser Davos?"

"I understand completely and am more than willing, Your Grace." Davos tells him.

"You will be risking your life, meeting with him in person. I would send a raven yet with him traveling by sea and not knowing where he'll land first it's impossible. Find him, bring him my message. I will write it down and seal it myself so he knows you are honest. If you think your life is at risk then abandon the mission, I will not have you dying this way."

"I'm honored, your Grace." Davos said, and he meant it. "I know very little about the Greyjoys. I've never actually met one, only heard stories of their piracy out on the open seas. I will learn as much as I can before meeting the man."

"Thank you, Ser Davos." Jon says earnestly as they both get up from the table. He reaches out with a black, gloved hand and Davos takes it. They shake while Davos hopes this isn't the last time he would be standing before his King.

Jon Snow says, "Ride with haste, I will need you here when the time comes to meet this Mad Queen."

* * *

Sansa

The winter snows were hitting hard, deafening in its wildness and forcing the commonfolk in the courtyard to shout when they wished to be heard. At the gates, Sansa saw Littlefinger with Lord Royce and other knights from the Vale. From a distance it was impossible to hear their muffled voices. She approached from behind so he would not see her. The closer she got, the clearer their conversation became. "—I will stay in Winterfell, where I can be useful. Take the knights of the Vale and ride for—" Another huge rush of cold wind cut off Lord Baelish's words. Sansa was only fifteen feet away before she couldn't hear them for nearly a minute, until, "—I will be in touch with Lord Aryn soon."

Lord Yohn Royce bowed and took leave. Littlefinger turned and found Sansa standing in the snowy clearing, her expression as cold as the wind.

"Lady Sansa." Littlefinger greets her, pausing before stepping closer. "Perhaps we could speak under shelter from the snow?"

The last thing she wanted was to talk to him. She wanted to hurt him, to hit him, to stab him, to make him pay for what he's done. But she said nothing and instead followed him inside the stables where several horses were grazing. Sansa kept her distance, knowing better than to let him get close to her. Once inside, Littlefinger brushed the snowflakes off his shoulders, removing his gloves and resting them on the pen beside him. Sansa watched him, waiting for him to speak, to offer some clever line, or a witty joke. Instead, he said "You must be furious with me."

"Furious? No. I'm more than that. Disgusted. Humiliated. Tell me something, Littlefinger, what exactly do you hope to get from marrying me? I do not want you nor will I ever. I have nothing I can give. I don't care if you love me or if you only want to use my family name to gain power. Whatever the reason is, you are a despicable man for going behind my back through Jon, Petyr Baelish, and I will never love you."

"I know." Littlefinger said and for the first time she saw outright sorrow on his face, and it caught her off guard. "I know we will never be together the way I want. If I had what I wanted right now you wouldn't be angry with me, you'd be happy. But I feel it is my duty to remind you, lady Sansa, I gave you the choice to accept my help at The Wall. I then gave you the choice in the godswood to take me as your husband. I gave you the choice to take Winterfell for yourself before Jon—with the support of the Vale we could have accomplished it. I gave you every choice along the way. You decided to reject my proposal and you decided to trust your brother as King. You also decided to make me a broken promise... Now, because of your trust—your weakness—he will be the one to decide your fate, not you or I."

"You could have taken the gold!" Sansa yells, fighting back tears—she would not show Littlefinger weakness! "You could have taken any reward you liked but you threatened Jon instead!"

"Funny, how a warning can so often be perceived as a threat in this world." Littlefinger says, a mocking smile on his face again. "I never said I would betray the Starks. Nor will I. Your brother is my King now. What was I to do? Give up and see you married to… someone else? No. You are mine, Sansa Stark. You will always be mine. With me you could overcome every weakness holding you back. With me, we could rule the seven kingdoms without ever taking orders from another again! With me you could become the Queen you were born to be!" He was closer to her now, a shadow over his face as he drew himself in. Sansa backed away, her heart hammering in her chest.

"You will never rule, Littlefinger." Sansa says.

Littlefinger only smiled as he said, "Perhaps you are right. You asked what my goal was, what my plan is, and yes, to sit the Iron Throne is my ultimate wish. But you were once angry with me for giving you to Ramsay Bolton. It pained me more than words can express to hear from your very own lips what he did to you… I wanted to prove that even your half-brother is capable of doing what I've done. Only instead of handing you to a monster, he'll be handing you to me." For a moment, Sansa thought he would reach out to her then and take her face as he was wont to do. But his hands remained at his sides.

"Jon is nothing like you." Sansa tells him, "You're a different kind of monster than Ramsay was, Lord Baelish. Some might say you're the worst kind. If Jon agrees to marry me to you, it will not be because he wished it so. It'll be because you made it so. And don't think that I will ever forget that."

"I admire your conviction, my Lady. I only pray your half-brother continues to deserve your undying trust. You were not there today at the war council. I suggest speaking with Jon about our current situation with the south. Good day, Sansa." Littlefinger bows his head and brushes past her without another word into the blinding, white snow.

* * *

Jaime

_This was the same window my son jumped from_ , Jaime thought, standing under the arch and looking out over King's Landing before him. In the distance he could spot the rubble of the Sept. The smoke had finally settled and the fires had all been put to rest, yet the scar on the city would remain for a long time, he thought. _But not as long as the scar on my heart._

Down below, mounted along pikes around the Red Keep, Cersei's wish was put into action. The heads of every person Jaime had executed, covered in thick, black tar, stared at the citizens of the capital with lifeless, open eyes. From up here, Jaime couldn't tell which one was the boy he killed, nor the mother who had feinted at the sight of her son being murdered, and was put to death with the sword while she was unconscious… No, from up here they were all just black smudges in the distance…

The sound of the door opening behind him brought Jaime out of his trance. He turned, hearing heavy footfalls, and saw Bronn standing inside. He wore his leather armor and had a sword at his side. One look and Jaime could tell Bronn had heard what happened. "Normally, I wouldn't ask this. I don't care to get into feelings and whatnot. But after what you just did I feel like I need to ask…"

"You'll have your money, Bronn." Jaime muttered absently, glaring back out the window.

"I was gonna ask if you were alright, you twat."

"I'm sorry," Jaime grimaces, giving Bronn an apologetic look. "Clearly I'm not alright."

"Aye." Bronn swaggered over to where a pitcher of wine sat full and waiting. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really." Jaime says, sitting down at the table and resting his golden hand upon its surface.

"Fine with me." Bronn says, taking the wine and two cups over to the table and setting one down for each of them. "Men don't talk about their feelings. Men get drunk. Your brother was good at that."

"Don't speak to me about Tyrion." Jaime said, narrowing his eyes.

"Still mad about him killing your Dad?"

"Of course I am!" Jaime shouts, "My brother killed my father, all three of my children are dead, and my sister is now known as the Mad Queen!"

"You got a fucked up family, no one is denying that." Bronn says with raised eyebrows, gulping down his drink while casting an eye at the door to make sure no one had heard him say that.

"The Cersei I know would never condone the murder of an innocent child." Jaime says flatly, "She's not the woman I fell in love with."

"Well one might call that karma for falling in love with your sister, mate." Bronn says, "Though I must say I appreciate you finally admitting it. Feels like we're friends now. Just don't go falling in love with me."

"Very funny. I'm being serious."

"Let me ask you something, then." Bronn says, straightening up in his seat, "Why do you love her?"

Jaime stares at Bronn, not knowing how to answer that. He use to come up with hundreds of reasons why he loved his sister… Yet sitting her now, after everything… "I've always loved her. She's the only woman I've ever been with."

"Well there's your fucking problem right there." Bronn says with a smirk, "You need to explore, mate. Look around for other women. There's a whole realm of women who would give anything to be with you. Like that one, the gigantic _beast_ of a woman. She'd give you a night you'd never forget, I can tell with a lass like that."

"Who, Brienne?!" Jaime seethed, shaking his head. "No, Brienne is a… a very dear friend and… Look, this is beside the point."

"No, this is the point." Bronn leans in, " _Dear friend,_ my arse! You need to fuck another woman or you're never going to get over your sister, Jaime. You don't sound like you want to love her anymore, or am I wrong?"

"I don't… I don't know what I want." Jaime sighs miserably, running his real hand over his weary face. "I can't disobey her command. She is the Queen now."

"Aye. She is the queen. But who is Jaime Lannister?" Bronn asks pointedly, taking another swig.

Jaime stared at his untouched cup of wine, the question lingering in his mind while Bronn continued to get drunk at his side.

* * *

Tyrion

Drogon was a splendor to behold, a legend in the making, an inspiration of wonder. The largest of the dragons, Drogon swooped down at the sight of his mother on the prow of the Red Wind, summoning him with an undemanding raised hand. Tyrion hid behind Daenerys, unprepared for the way the entire ship rocked when Drogon landed. The dragon released a bellowing roar, blowing back his hair. Daenerys stepped up to the beast with trust and grace, running her hand along his smooth scales. She looked to him then and said, "Come."

Tyrion steps forward, watching as Drogon observed him. He was so big his head alone could crush him if he willed it. Tyrion meekly bowed his head in respect, hoping Varys wasn't watching this. The dragon reared its long neck back, tilting its head and growling suspiciously at the dwarf. "Hello Drogon! Pleased to finally meet you!"

The Dragon's growling only intesified. Tyrion gave Dany a worried look. The other two liked him because he'd freed them. But Drogon might see no reason to trust him…

"It's ok." She says, smiling, "He won't hurt you. Not while I'm here. Come, put your hand on him. Let him know you're safe."

That was the last thing he wanted to do. Yet Tyrion found himself walking toward the humongous creature, wary of the way its eyes followed his every move. When he was beside Dany he reached up and felt Drogon's warm scales. "You are magnificent." He whispered, making Dany beam at them.

"He'll know you are safe now."

"I hope you're right." Tyrion said as Drogon lifted his head out of reach, his growling simmering but not entirely waning. Daenerys lowers her hand as well and the dragon takes off, nearly sinking the front end of _The Red Wind_ as his wings gave flight. Tyrion hollered with surprise, grabbing the railing and Dany by her wrist to keep them both balanced. Dany only laughed, watching her baby soar over the army and howl down at them all with pride.

* * *

Theon

Theon Greyjoy and his sister Yara stepped off from their Ironborn flagship and boarded _The Red Wind_ , Yara leading the way while Theon followed behind her. Once inside the cabin, they found Dany sitting behind her round table, with both Tyrion Lannister and Missandei at her side. "Ah, greetings." Says the dwarf. Both Yara and Theon bow low, their arms across their chests in salute.

_Keep quiet, Reek, or the Hounds will hear you._

"How fares my ships?" Dany asks them.

Theon looks to his sister, who answers: "There are no troubles, your Grace. The horizon is clear. When other ships see us coming they flee. With a force this size it might be impossible to arrive at King's Landing unnoticed."

"That's to be expected." Tyrion says, "We can't control how word spreads."

_I bet word has spread about your lost pecker to all the people in this room, Reek._

"Yara Greyjoy, you and your people are more familiar with the sea than any of us. I am grateful for your help." Dany says with a smile.

"We are here to serve at your liege, your Grace." Yara says, smiling as well, though perhaps a little more slyly.

"Tell me, what are the chances of your uncle Euron blocking our way before we arrive?" Dany asks.

"Our uncle has little ships and even less resources to build more. A year or two, I think." Yara shrugs, "It's not Euron's ships that truly concern me, your Grace. The fight with Euron will take place on Westeros. It's his brother, Victarion, I am worried about now. We've had word from scouting ships that say a fleet under the sigil of the Kraken has taken Volantis and burned it to the ground."

"Victarion?" Tyrion raises an eyebrow, "I remember hearing about him from my brother once..."

"Victarion left the iron islands many years ago, when he, Euron, and our father had a falling out. Euron was exiled, Victarion explored the world to find riches, and father became King. No word of Victarion has been heard of in so long he was almost not a concern… But if I know my uncles, we should be concerned. Victarion wasn't as smart as Euron, never could defeat him in an argument, but he was by far the bigger and stronger of the two. Victarion's fleet was only fifteen strong when they left ten years ago, when I was still a teenager. Euron is the threat we know isn't close, Your Grace. Victarion is the threat that could hit us from behind when we're least expecting. I wouldn't put it past the both of them to try and work together to take us down. I suggest the Ironborn fleet guard the rear of our fleet. We will recognize his ships faster than any other."

"And if he were to attack from the north, or south, or west?" Tyrion asks.

"Volantis is behind us, therefor an attack from my uncle would come from behind us." Yara insists.

"They could have many more ships in their fleet than you last saw him." Tyrion suggests.

"Your uncle had fifteen ships when you last saw him?" Dany asks, and Yara nods. "We have a thousand. If either of your uncles are foolish enough to attack us by sea, they will learn their mistake through fire and blood."

"A battle at sea could be disastrous, however." Tyrion points out, "Many lives are lost when a single ship goes down. Best to try and avoid such dilemmas. We should keep the Ironborn ships on our borders, looking out for these uncles of theirs… Though tell me, what reason would Victarion have for siding with Euron when the both of them fought so many years ago?"

"They both lust after power, women, and gold." Yara shrugs, "They could just as easily be competing with one another, to see which one gets the dragon queen first in their bed."

"I'm afraid your uncles will be very disappointed when they learn this queen will not submit so easily." Dany says confidently, "Yara Greyjoy, I thank you for your council. Command the Ironborn to maneuver their ships to surround the rear and to keep watch for any signs of your uncles approaching. If they are fool enough to come after me I will give them a sight to behold."

"My pleasure, your Grace." Yara bows again, but as she turns Dany calls out to her.

"See me tonight, in my cabin. I have… private matters I wish to discuss with you."

Theon eyed his sister's smirk and felt a familiar pain… was it envy? Yara nodded and left them with a swagger. Theon blinked and began to go after her when Tyrion says "Why do you follow your sister so obediently without trying to take command for yourself, Theon Greyjoy? Last I checked you are the rightful heir to Balon's throne. So why Yara, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I told you, I'm not fit to rule."

_Not fit to fuck either, Reek._

"Well that's not really an answer to my question." Tyrion says, raising a curious eyebrow and taking a sip from his goblet of wine. "What changed? Last I heard you had taken Winterfell for yourself, killed two stark boys, and betrayed the King of the North? I can't be the only one curious as to how a man like that becomes his sister's yes-man."

Tears began to sting at Theon's eyes. He glared down at his feet, trying to muster up the courage to remember… How could he not? It was all so fresh in his mind.

Daenerys could tell something was wrong. "Speak, Theon. It's ok. Your past crimes have no bearing on your position with me yet."

"Well…" Theon stammered, trying to shut out the voices. "Well, you see… I was captured by… by the Boltons."

"The Boltons…" A look of dawning understanding swept across the dwarf's face, "I see."

"Who are the Boltons?" Dany asks, looking to her Hand.

"A truly terrifying House. Their flayed man sigil was no metaphor for their cruel and sadistic minds. I can only imagine what torments they put him through." Tyrion says, grimacing sadly and feeling pity for the man which was indeed quite odd considering his crimes.

"Aye. They tortured me." Theon said, "Mutilated me in ways I can't describe. I was nothing to them. But I escaped. And here I am." Theon's voice grew stronger as he spoke, and he stood straighter, looking now at his Queen. "I am Theon Greyjoy, and I swear to you, My Queen, I will never betray you as I've once betrayed Robb Stark. I am a better man now, and given a chance I will prove it to you!"

"You've proven enough already. I pardon you, Theon Greyjoy, for all your crimes." Dany says, standing before him with a merciful smile. "Fight for me, and you will have your House back. Fight for me and I will give you your honor back. Fight for me, and never look back on the man you once were. I can be merciful, and forgiving… but cross me and I will not share with you either of those things. I have faith in you, however... Do not disappoint me."

"Never, my Queen!" Theon shouts, giving her a proud salute. A feeling of weightlessness had taken over him. Suddenly he felt empowered, like he could do anything! Staring at the white haired beauty and her radiant smile filled him with the kind of hope Theon thought he could never trust in again.

_What is dead may never die… Reek._

* * *

Podrick

" _Brienne_!" Podrick shouted, tumbling through the wilderness with his arms flailing, each step threatening to slip out from under him and send him face-planting into the mud. He was lost, and his knight was gone. The Crannogmen Pod had heard about, it must've been them. The marsh-men used guerrilla warfare to take down their prey. Imagining the horrors they were inflicting upon Lady Brienne filled Pod with a grief so great he had to find her. " _Brienne_! _Where are you_?! _BRIENNE_!" Let the Crannogmen hear him, if they would take him he could reunite with her again. He had been a craven and hid behind the bushes, watching as men in tattered clothes and pale, green skin dragged his lady and the Red Woman off. Pod ran and ran, shouting until he was out of breath, for what seemed like hours on end. The vast woods went on for miles in all directions, a thick fog clouded his path while a distant wolf howls could be heard in the wind, and Pod felt he would never find his way out…

* * *

Brienne

Her throat was raw and swollen, making it hard to breath. Something scratched around the skin of her neck. Brienne opened her eyes but everything was a blurred mess. Low, faint hissing sounds could be heard from some far off place and dark shapes loomed in and out of focus, speaking in whispers. Brienne turned her head, wincing at the pain that tugged around her neck, and saw the red visage of Melisandre standing beside her…

"She's waking." She heard one of the whisperers say.

Brienne of Tarth realized it was a noose around her throat, and that both her hands and feet were tied together. She tugged at her bindings but it was no use. A man stood before her, small and thin. His hair was long and in rags around his wrinkled, disturbed expression. But the thing that stood out above all else was the fact that this man was riddled with greyscale. His entire face, down to the flesh around his feet was cracked and peeling. His beard was mossy and wet, his eyes wide and quivering as they examined her and the Red Woman.

"What is this?" Brienne hissed at him, realizing with horror that she was standing before a crowd of people, all of them dressed in disheveled rags that barely covered their thin bodies. The men were unshaven, gaunt, and whispered with deep grunts while the women were homely and starved. All around them, tall, thick trees towered and swayed in the mist. A great wall of rock surrounded them, and it took Brienne a moment to realize there were small boulder-shaped huts amidst the woods.

"You are in Greywater Watch, m'lady." Croaked the old man, walking with a limp and balancing with a jagged stick engraved with markings she could not read from here. "As you can tell, you stand trial today for entering our territory, showing your sword, and being just a downright suspicious couple. I wasn't there, but I heard you two were arguing when my men found you. Before we hang you, it is our custom to give you a chance to defend yourself. Why should we let you live, m'lady?"

Brienne looked to the Red Woman and saw she was beginning to stir. Brienne couldn't believe she could be so dense as to get caught this way. The old man watched her patiently, though the suspicion in his eyes was piercing. "Greywater Watch…" Brienne muttered, "This must be the courtyard."

"Not many live to say they've seen our fortress." The old man says with a smile, "Behind you is our keep, though depending on who you say you are, you may never get to lay eyes on it."

"My father told me of this place when I was a girl." Brienne remembers, "He told me the Crannogmen were mysterious folk who dwelled in the forest in a castle that can never be found unless one is given permission. He said Greywater Watch floated on the swamp, making it impossible to place on any map because the castle itself would move."

"Not all rumors are true, I'm afraid." The old man laments, "We are simply hidden in the fog well enough that finding our castle is nearly impossible. We mostly get deserters from some battle or another trying to flee through our swamp, getting lost, and dying from starvation, exhaustion or perhaps a lizard-lion. Yet until recently I've kept my men from taking in strangers."

"What changed, my Lord?" Brienne asks him, keeping her calm while Melisandre's eyes fluttered open beside her.

"I won't tell you more until I hear a defense from you." Says the old man with a sigh, appearing tired.

"My name is Brienne of Tarth. I am Sansa Stark's swornsword, riding back to Winterfell after… after failing the mission my lady gave me." She says, shooting Melisandre a look to stay quiet while they talked. The Red Woman had realized what was happening, looking both stunned and afraid.

"Curious…" Muttered the old man with narrowed eyes, "Sansa Stark… I haven't see her since she was a babe."

"You are Howland Reed, are you not, my Lord?" Brienne asks.

The old man nodded. "Your father taught you well."

"My father taught me that House Reed has always been loyal to House Stark. You must release me so I may return to my lady and defend her. In return you will have the gratitude of House Stark, I swear it on my honor." Brienne tells him, keeping her calm.

"Your honor." Howland Reed says, scratching his sandy-colored beard as he studied her. "Tell me, Lady Brienne, do you know what this is?" He beckoned to one of his men and they brought forth Oathkeeper, encased in its sheath.

"That is my sword." Brienne replies, unsure what the meaning of this was.

"Do you know what this sword _is_?" Howland Reed asks heavily.

Brienne hesitates before responding, "It is Valyrian Steel."

Howland's smile disturbed her. "Correct. Valyrian Steel… Where did you acquire such a fine sword, my Lady?"

"Ser Jaime Lannister gave me that sword. I swore an oath to find Sansa Stark and keep her safe. I upheld that oath. When I attempted to return the sword, Jaime refused and said it was mine." Brienne said, hiding the pride from her tone of voice.

"The Kingslayer gave you this sword? Curious." Howland frowns, uglier than ever. "The Lannisters are an enemy of the North. Yet you claim to serve both Stark and Lannister?"

"I only serve Lady Sansa!" Brienne insists. "Jaime Lannister is only a friend."

The crowd hissed at this. Howland looked as though all joy had been drained of him. "How do we know you do not speak lies? Anyone can claim to be Sansa Stark's swornsword."

"She speaks the truth." Says Melisandre next to her, causing the whispers to silence. All eyes were on her now, including Brienne, who couldn't believe she would defend her.

Howland Reed approached the Red Woman carefully, cautious of her even with a noose around her neck. "You are the Red Woman I keep hearing tales about, aren't you?" He asks.

"My name is Melisandre. I was once Stannis Baratheon's red priestess but he fell… slain by this one." She looks at Brienne, not unkindly as she says this. "I then—"

"I knew a woman like you once." Howland interrupts her, "Once upon a time I caught greyscale from drinking with a stranger who claimed he was a merchant lost in my woods. He was gone by the time my symptoms began to show. I don't know what he gave me or why, but the disease broke out over my body like wildfire. I was left Greywater Watch to die, rotting from a disease that was supposedly incurable, and traveled to Volantis where rumors of ancient healers could be found. I found a woman there, garbed in red much like yourself… wearing the same necklace you wear… She cured me of my disease for a price… I returned to Westeros, changed and unholy. The Gods had forsaken me, I thought, until I discovered that I had left Greywater Watch with a pregnant wife, and found two children waiting for me, never knowing their father, both of them clear of any sign of Greyscale. I thought they'd hide from me, from my face… but they embraced me like I was everything to them. That's when I knew the Gods had given me a second chance, thanks to that Red Woman… So many years, and I still can't quite remember her name. Only that she was beautiful, much like you, My Lady… Yet her gift was still a curse, one I must bear for the rest of my days…."

"That's a heartwarming tale, My Lord." Brienne says, catching his attention again, "But what does this have to do with our freedom?"

"Nothing." Howland shrugs, "I'm simply amazed to find myself before another Red Priestess again. Forgive me, in my old age, I tend to ramble." He chuckled laughter that turned into a harsh coughing. This man was a total mystery to her. Everything she knew about the Reeds and Greywater Watch she'd already recited to them. Now her fate lay in this old man's leathery, scaled hands and she didn't know what to do.

"Lord Howland Reed, I must return to my Lady Sansa at once. She is in Winterfell with little protection."

"Lady Melisandre says you speak the truth, and are loyal to House Stark." Howland Reed says, "My men saw you two fighting in the woods. So the Red Lady here has no reason to defend you, yet she does, which gives me cause to believe it." Howland takes a dagger out from his dirty robes and walks up to Brienne's bonds. He rests its edge along the hempen rope, but stops. Brienne's eyes dart between the knife and Howland's face, observing her morosely. "However, before I do let you go, there's one other question I have… You claim to serve House Stark… Does that include our new King in the North?

Brienne knew her answer here would determine her fate. Jon Snow was the King in the North. But Jon was also a bastard. The other lords of the north had all proclaimed their loyalty, according to what Melisandre had told her before they were captured… but that didn't necessarily mean Howland Reed would. After-all, the Reeds and the Crannogmen were a mysterious folk, staying in the shadows instead of fighting on the battlefields. Perhaps telling him "no" would be a better option, and just sticking with her lady Sansa… yet that might also be the wrong answer. She had no idea, so she closed her eyes and decides to be honest. "The King is my lady's brother… Bastard or not, he is the King of the North, and if my lady wishes it, I would fight and die for him just as I would for any Stark."

"I see…" Howland Reed's expression was impossible to read. "What if I told you the King of the North was no true Stark at all?"

Brienne shook her head slowly, not understanding while Melisandre listened intently. "He's Eddard Stark's son. Like I said, he is not a true born but he still has Stark blood in his veins."

Howland sighs through his nose. "You see, that's simply half true. I was there the day Jon was born into this world. Eddard Stark and I entered the tower of joy after defeating Ser Arthur Dayne. Ned Stark promised his sister, Lyanna, to keep the secret of her son's lineage from King Robert, for he would have the son of Rhaegar Targaryen butchered if he found out. For the first time in Ned's life, I watched him promise to lie to the realm, promised to raise Jon as a Stark, and to hide him from the new king… I wonder when Ned might've told Jon about his mother and father… I wonder if Jon knows and is hiding this truth, or if he is ignorant of the truth… either way, my lady, there's three things I know for a certainty. Three things I live by, and my men live by: The first, is that winter comes for us all, and we must be ready. The second, is that I must protect the North from the South. And thirdly… Never trust a Targaryen." Howland Reed's voice grew thick with anger that frightened Brienne and Melisandre both.

"Jon Snow is a Targaryen? So what if he is? What does it matter? You expect me to believe this madness?" Brienne asks.

"If you wish to live, yes." Howland Reed frowns, "You serve Lady Sansa Stark, yet she's been married to two traitors to the North, Lannister and Bolton. How can I trust a Stark that would betray her own family for power?"

"Lady Sansa never married out of willingness or love! She was bought and sold for political gains from people in power, nothing more! I swear it, Lord Reed, by the old gods and the new!"

"There is only one true God, Lady Brienne. The God of Death, who comes for us all." Howland removes the blade from her bindings, leaving her trapped. "The Starks are dead, but I live on. Sansa is a Lannister whore, Jon is a Targaryen more than he is a Stark, and Ironborn threaten to invade my lands. This is quite a time to be living in at my age." Howland sighs, almost sounding like he regretted leaving her there.

"My Lord, you make a grave mistake! Lady Sansa is not the woman you've heard rumors about out here in your little swamp! She's a fair, noble woman with honor and dignity! Please, my Lord! Hear my words!" Brienne cries desperately tugging at her ropes but Howland sweeps past her and returns attention to the Red Woman.

"What about you, my lady?" Howland asks her, "Do you proclaim yourself loyal to the King in the North as well?"

"The King exiled me from the north for crimes I committed long ago." Melisandre says coldly, "If today is the day I die then so be it. I've lived long and hard years and to be done with it all would be a warm relief. However, you know about the powers I possess. You've seen them for yourself. Let me help you, my Lord."

"Indeed." Howland considered her, "I can think of a few uses I could have for you. Would you swear fealty unto me?"

"I will, here and now."

"Don't believe her!" Brienne roars, "She is a liar and a murderer! She'll use you and leave you for dead when you're no longer important to her! She's a witch, and deserves to be hanged!"

"That's quite something to say about someone who just defended _your_ honor." Howland replies, casting her a dark look. "Lady Brienne, your honor diminishes with every word you speak. Loyalty to House Stark, I'm sure. The House Stark I know is long dead. The King in the North is no true king nor Stark. As for you, I simply can't decide. For now, I think, instead of execution I shall keep you in our pits. You may prove useful in the future."

"What could possess you to act this way!?" Brienne shouts down at him, "You were Ned Stark's friend yet you would betray his children so easily?!"

"Ned Stark died before his children could grow and learn from him. Sansa was raised by lions, Arya is missing or dead, and Robb Stark got himself killed like a fool. The only sons of Stark I could believe in I sent my children to serve and protect. Yet not long after I bade my children farewell word came to me that Bran Stark and his younger brother were both burned and hung by the turncloak, Theon Greyjoy. I expected my children to return, yet they did not. No doubt they were slaughtered as well… All in the name of Stark."

Brienne watched as Howland Reed beckoned for his men to come and take her away. Brienne fought, trying to escape, but there were too many of them. She watched Howland cut Melisandre's bonds and released her from the noose. Brienne snarled, whipping her head back and smashing it into the face of a Crannogman. She received several beatings for it, and was tugged along by the rope around her neck. "Howland Reed you will regret this!" She shouts before they gag her, blind her, and drag her through the mud. Suddenly where there was once earth beneath her feet, there was air! She fell about ten feet, landing bound, gagged, and blind in a hole of wet slime and muck. She growled, hating herself for being stuck like this, listening to their amused whispers overhead.

Brienne rolled over, tugging the cloth around her eyes down with friction against the floor so that she could at least see where they'd tossed her. Indeed, the pit was aptly named. She had about six feet of wiggle room down here, and the light from above was clouded by fog, making it extremely dark. Brienne crawled to the wall and leaned against it, listening…

Up above, Howland Reed's guttural voice could be heart speaking with the Red Woman, but Brienne could not make it out. With a heavy grunt, she stood, balancing on feet that were tied together and in mud that threatened to make her slip. She was tall but not quite tall enough to grab the top. She was truly trapped.

Somewhere close by overhead Brienne heard the howling of a wolf, and she thought about her Lady Sansa. She failed her mission and now she'd failed to return home. Sansa would assume she was dead after a while. No one would come look for her. Brienne sniffed, glaring down into the mud. After a while Brienne closed her eyes and fell into a slumber while the sound of wolves howling into the sky sang her to sleep.

* * *

Samwell

If ever in Samwell's life there was a task more troublesome than this, he could not name it. Braving the north, fighting a white walker, taking care of a baby—all of it was nothing compared to this. Sam had tried everything, from lighting the glass candle with fire to making a heartfelt plea, nothing worked. The candle was not really a candle at all. The wick was small and silvery, the base reflecting his own distorted face back at him, its holder too was made entirely of delicate glass. Samwell was well aware of his clumsiness and refused to touch it out of fear of knocking it over. The last thing he needed was Archmaester Archybald coming back to find the candle in smithereens.

The maesters brought him food as Archie had promised. Yet the grapes and bread they gave him tasted dry and unfresh. Sam ate it anyway, determined not to leave until he solves this riddle. He imagined Jon's disappointment when he heard that Sam had failed the first test they gave him and it brought him close to the verge of despair. "Come on you stupid little piece of—ignite! Ignite!" He shouted desperately, holding a torch over the glass. No matter how long he held it, the candle remained unsinged and crystal clear as before. After hours and hours, Sam was running out of ideas. How could this happen?! How could he make it this far only to be toppled by a damn candle made of dragonglass?! After about sixteen straight hours of attempts he fell asleep…

When he awoke, Archmaester Archybald was standing over him, a wide grin under his mustache. "Good morning, Sam."

He jerked, realizing he'd passed out flat on the floor. Sam rubbed his eye and apologized, "I'm sorry, Archmaester Archybald, I didn't know I was…" He frowned, remembering all of his earlier attempts and feeling a sinking in his heart. "Is my time up?"

"Afraid so. Tell me, what did you learn?" The archmaester asked curiously, reaching down and helping Sam to his feet with surprising strength for a man his age.

"I failed. I didn't learn a damn thing, Archmaester."

"It's Archie, Sam." The old man reminded him with a sly smirk. "I didn't ask if you succeeded, it's clear you did not. I asked what you learned."

Sam paused, not knowing if he learned anything. "Well… I learned that I'm completely hopeless and Jon sent the wrong man for the job, though I suppose I should've known that."

"Wrong." Suddenly Archie slapped him, and Sam nearly tumbled right into the glass candle. "You can expect more of those every time you give me a loathsome answer like that."

"Well I don't know what I bloody learned!" Sam snaps at him, rubbing his sore cheek.

"What do you think it would take to light this candle, Sam?" Archie asks him quizzically.

"I don't know, I couldn't do it."

"That's not the question!" Archie says, walking around the table in the center of the room as he speaks, glaring down at the candle. "What do you think it takes to light this candle? You tried everything in your power, correct? So tell me what you think it takes!"

Sam thought about it before answering, "Magic?"

The archmaester chuckled, "So, you do have some voices in that head of yours, good! Good! Hahahaha!"

"But… Archmaester… Magic doesn't exist really."

"Nope. You're right about that one, Sam. Magic doesn't, and never has or will, exist in our world. That is the importance of this test. You must accept this fact, or you will never be able to make it as a Maester. Now, I know magic seems a silly concept, but you would not believe how many apprentices come here thinking they're going to change the world and discover how to use it! I myself was one of these apprentices once. I too fought myself for a day and night on how to light this infernal candle! But I learned that some things are simply impossible in this world. Science is the only magic we can trust, Sam. Can you accept this?"

* * *

Gilly

Baby Sam wailed loudly, upsetting some of the other people staying in the inn. The innkeeper came to Gilly and informed her she would no longer be welcome here. "I'm sorry but you have no money and we cannot support your child. I have a business to operate, m'lady."

"Please, I have nowhere else to go." Gilly had pleaded, but the innkeeper regretfully refused.

So now she stood in the rain, gripping her baby to her bosom and sheltering him from the cold, wet weather under a rooftop banister. The tower where Sam studied loomed over the city of Oldtown, its great fire lighting the way for ships in the sea. Winter was here, but only storms of harsh rain had reached the south of Westeros. With a determined face, Gilly decided enough was enough. She pounded her way through the rain, doing her best to keep Sam Jr. hidden, down the sloping roads to the tower.

Once inside, baby Sam's cries echoed off the walls immediately alerting the receptionist behind the desk, his large spectacles making his eyes appear five times their normal size. "It's you." He said, removing the glasses and glaring at her.

"Where is Sam?" She demanded, bouncing her baby to try and soothe him but Sam Jr. only continued to wail. "I need to see him right now!"

"Samwell is with the archmaester and is very busy, woman." Replied the grumpy receptionist with spite. "You are welcome to wait outside for him. I can inform him of your arrival once he is finished."

"You will inform him now or I'll make sure my baby keeps crying in here." Gilly threatens. The receptionist grimaces as Sam Jr's shrieks continue.

When Sam came down he was no longer wearing his black padded leather. He was garbed in a black robe instead. "Gilly, they told me you threatened the receptionist with our baby?" He asks as he goes to her.

"I had to. They wouldn't let me see you." Gilly says, allowing Sam to hold the baby. At once Sam Jr. stopped crying, his eyes glued to Sam's beaming smile. "We were kicked out of the inn. The money you gave us is gone already. I have no place to go, nowhere to eat, nowhere to work!"

"Gilly, I'm sure that's not true. Who wouldn't take this little cutie in, eh?" Sam giggled as he let the baby play with his fingers. "I'm sure if you explained to the innkeep that you'd be willing to work—"

"I tried working there. But nobody wants to look after a baby so I have to take him with me… They fired me, Sam." Gilly felt as though she'd failed him, yet Sam simply shook his head.

"You'll find another job, Gilly. I'm sure of it. Here, I have a little coin left but not much. Take it and find somewhere to eat. I'd go with you but, well, I've been made a maester!" Perhaps Sam expected Gilly to jump and scream with joy, but all Gilly could do was stare at him with disbelief.

"You're a maester?" She repeats.

"Yeah, I start today. Well, start studying that is. I won't have my first chain for a while but I'm learning all about the white walkers, like Jon wanted… Well, at least I hope I will anyway. I know I'm asking a lot from you but I have faith that you'll land somewhere and once I've got my chain I'll be out of here. We can go back to Castle Black and be together the way we're supposed to."

"You don't understand what it's like, Sam." Gilly says furiously, "If I'm to find a job you have to take Sam Jr."

"What? N-No, they would never let a baby inside." Sam stammered, glancing at the receptionist who was watching them like a hawk. "Bringing a woman inside the tower at all is forbidden, let alone a baby. They say it distracts from knowledge or something like that."

"You're going to let them keep you from your family?" Gilly asks slowly.

"It's not like that, Gilly." Sam insists, reaching out to her but she instead grabs Sam Jr. and pulls him gently from his arms. "Gilly…"

"You go ahead and be a maester, Sam. If we haven't starved to death by the time you're out, try to remember us." Gilly mutters, sniffing back tears. She turns away to leave, but Sam grabs her. His forcefulness shocks her, never seeing this side of him before. Before she can resist he's wrapped himself around her from behind, holding them close in his embrace with one hand on Sam Jr's forehead and the other caressing Gilly's neck.

"Gilly, I love you. I'll always love you. Sam Jr. is everything to me. You both are. But you have to understand, I wouldn't be in here if it wasn't important. Everything I do, I'm doing it for my family." His voice was warm against her ear. She closed her eyes, feeling calm again, but it was a bittersweet thing. As Sam's arms left her and she looked back at him, she realized he was crying long before she was.

"I love you too, Samwell Tarly." Gilly says, giving in and hugging him back, their baby in between them giggling joyfully. She kisses his hairy cheek, ignoring the disapproving grunts from the receptionist. Sam kisses them both, promising he will be out as soon as he can. She watches as he disappears up the flight of steps, and leaves them alone once more. Gilly looks down at baby Sam's smiling face, still unaware that his Dad wouldn't be around for a while. It broke Gilly's heart to walk out the door and into the storm.

* * *

Victarion

Thunder boomed in the night sky over the Iron Victory. Behind them lied the distant ruins that once belonged to Volantis. A smog of black smoke now painted the sky an ugly color. Victarion cared not to look at it, preferring to look ahead where cylinders of wind were spiraling down like spears from the skies and crashing into the water. Ratfly, Jharax, and Hulbert were hooting and waving their swords at the twisters, daring them to come closer. Strong Belwas only watched the storm with a disinterred expression. High Priestess Kinvara was watching as well.

"Our ships have braved worse than this. Have no fear, my lady." Victarion snorted, amused with himself. "Perhaps we'll find the wreckage of Daenerys and her dragons lying dead in the water? What would I make of your fire god then?"

"I have no doubt these storms will not trouble us." Kinvara says, "We have still a long way to go before we catch up to them."

"How do you know all of this? Have you seen everything in the flames?" Victarion asks.

"Some. Not everything." Kinvara casts him a mysterious, yet friendly smile. If not for Victarion's salt wife he would have her fuck him at his whim, or so he liked to believe. Yet there was also a part of him that felt a strange respect for this woman. She had shown him true magic, proven her worth, and ever since has been offering direction in where to find the Mother of Dragons. She would not explain how she knew where to travel, but it was better than simply going blind.

"Captain Victarion!" Shouted Ratfly with excitement, pointing out over the ship's railing. "Ship ahead!"

"How many?!" Bellowed Victarion abruptly, steeling himself away from the front of the ship. Ratfly was looking through a telescope to their north near the continent.

"Just one, no sigil I recognize, just a blank sail." Ratfly grins, revealing his golden teeth. "One sailor from the looks of it. A man."

"What of it?" Victarion asks, annoyed.

"He's sailing toward us, Captain. I wonder if he means to ask for a ride aboard! Hahaha!"

"If he comes near shoot him with a bolt and take his things. We don't need another beggar weighing us down." Victarion tells his men.

"That would be a mistake." The Red Woman says, still looking out ahead at the storm.

Victarion glared at her, impatient. "What do you mean, sorceress? Speak!"

"That man has no idea who you are yet. Only that you have many large ships and that he needs to get to Westeros. He will ask for safe passage. You will give it to him because he is the key to gaining the Dragon Queen's hand in marriage."

"You speak to me in riddles, woman. How is that stranger out in a boat the key?"

"You will find out once you speak with him." Was all she answered him with.

Victarion considered her words and once again found himself believing her. "If this turns out to be folly you know what will happen to you, right? We're much farther away from shore now and I just spotted a hammerhead not long ago looking for prey."

"Trust me, Victarion. I will never lie to you." She never looks at him though, and this infuriates him. Victarion tells his men to bring the sailor aboard.

When they do, Victarion Greyjoy immediately regretted his decision and could see why no other ships had granted this man passage. He was about as old as Victarion was, though much thinner and worse for wear. His shirt was gone, revealing damaged, hairy muscles. From the tips of his fingers in his left arm all the way up to his neck-line was the familiar disease known as Greyscale, and it was beginning to claw its way down his chest as well. Fissures of cracked, disturbed skin were peeling away, and his fingers hung limply, without use at his side. Victarion turned to Kinvara outraged, and spat, "You let me bring aboard this infested swine?! I should have you thrown overboard for this treachery!"

"What is this?" Whispered the man, confused and weary. He looked hungry as well, and ready to collapse.

"Jorah Mormont," Spoke Kinvara confidently, as though speaking with an old friend, "Are you not?"

"I am. Why?"

"Tell these men who you serve."

A dark look spread across his face. "I serve the one true Queen of Westeros… Daenerys Targaryen. I came here looking for safe passage to—"

"Oldtown?" Kinvara interrupts with a smile, "I know, Jorah the Andal. I know all about you. Victarion Greyjoy here is in need of a man such as you."

Jorah glared at her, "What's the meaning of this?"

"My lady here tells me you are the key to winning the Dragon's heart." Victarion says, "Yet all I see is a man who can never swing a sword properly again."

"I can still kill you and half your men before you'd get me, Greyjoy." Jorah spat defiantly.

"There will be no need for killings, good men." Lady Kinvara says and she approaches Jorah unafraid. "The Lord of Light can heal his affliction now before it drives him to insanity and spreads its disease."

Jorah just shakes his head. "I don't believe you."

"You don't need to believe, my friend. You only need to relax." Kinvara takes his infected hand in her own and he recoils at first. "Do not be afraid. You cannot harm me, Jorah." He felt warmth at her touch. The pain that was there numbed slightly, but did not disperse. "I will need to perform the ritual inside, preferably in a bedroom; with your consent of course, Victarion?" She glanced over her shoulder at the captain, who was watching in stunned silence.

For the third time, Victarion decided to trust her.

Down below the Iron Victory, Jorah Mormont was strapped to a bed, his clothes torn away to reveal his naked legs and groin. Kinvara eyed him with a flirtatious smile, slowly making her way around the bedding and climbing on top of him. Victarion stood like a solemn statue in the corner, watching while his own dusky saltwife sucked on his cock obediently. He watched, entranced, as Kinvara removed her red dress and threw it aside. Her large breasts were desirable and he wanted to reach out and grope her, yet he resisted, inclining instead to force his entirety down the dusky woman's throat until she coughed and drooled. She never resisted, never. Not like Jorah the Andal.

He fought against the rope around his wrists and ankles, tugging desperately but to no avail. The Red Woman brushed her nipples along his hairy chest, locking her lips with his regardless of his protests. "You can't… Stop!" He muttered in between breathes as she straddled his waist. "I don't want this. Please."

"I know, Jorah. I know. You love Daenerys. She is your one true love and I suspect maybe she might even love you someday." She takes his unwilling erection and slides it with ease inside of her, "Today is not that day, Jorah. Today you are mine." She leaned in close then, and whispered softly in his ear so no one else but him could hear: "You will thank me for this."

* * *

Daenerys

Dany's chambers were wide and draped in crimson cloth. The sigil of House Targaryen hung from the walls and through the window Dany liked to watch the ocean depths pass her by. Sometimes she would see a shark or a whale down below, swimming along minding its own business, unconcerned with the fleet above. On her down time Dany loved it down here. No one but Missandei had been invited inside so far. Dany looked, wondering where her handmaiden was now. She was so use to her being at her side every day that without her she felt lonesome.

When the doors to her chambers open and Yara Greyjoy entered, Daenerys greeted her with a warm smile, "You came."

"I hope to more than once tonight." Yara smirks, approaching her with the same swagger she always walked with that Dany found endearing. She reminded her so much of Daario, they had the same arrogant look and posture, same lustful twinkle in their eye, and they both gave her a fluttering in her heart she could not explain, only enjoy. Tyrion warned her after Dany had given Yara the command to come by her room, telling her she had already gone through this with Daario and to be careful not to make Yara her mistress. Dany had found his concern amusing, and promised she would not make the same mistake twice. Yet standing her watching the young Greyjoy leader, Dany couldn't help but reflect on her lover in Meereen.

"Have you ever been with a woman before?" Yara asks.

"Once. But it wasn't really…" Dany blushed, "She taught me how to pleasure a man a long time ago."

"An important skill, no doubt. Sometimes women must pleasure men to get what they want. Honestly I've always enjoyed women better. I could show you my skills, if you'd like." _Just like Daario_ , Dany thought. Yara's seductive smile was attractive, and although Dany was hesitant, she knew she must remain Queenly, even when making love.

Daenerys sat down on her bed and stared up at Yara expectantly. "Remove your clothes."

Yara obeys her queen, and as the leather falls to the floor and the ship rocks underneath them, Dany felt a stirring inside of her. Yara's body was beautiful, voluptuous, and it aroused her in ways men never had. She lay back on her bed and watched the Greyjoy follow, climbing over her legs and pulling back the curtains of her white gown. "Let me show you how I like to start." Yara grins, kissing her stomach and traveling southward. Dany closed her eyes and entered a world of ecstasy. Her moans sounded far away. Yara's tongue played with her at first, then entered her slowly, tasting every inch.

Dany's hands found their way down to Yara's hair, her thighs clamping tightly around her head. She rocked back and forth in the sheets of her enormous bed, and in her mind she saw Daario Naharis, thrusting his cock inside of her, grunting deeply as he always did, and Dany knew she was already getting close. Then she saw Khal Drogo, lumbering over Daario with his rippling muscles… Dany's imagination went wild after that, loving the way Yara's fingers fondled her breasts. In her mind, someone else joined her threesome, naked and obscured in scars and blood, a roaring fire blazing behind him. Dany cradled Jorah Mormont's face in one hand while the other slid down between his legs… and within seconds Dany was groaning with rapture, her fingers scraping Yara's scalp. "That was quick." Yara said, wiping her mouth off with her wrist.

"I did not command you to stop." Dany says, out of breath. Yara only grins and obeys.

* * *

Sansa

A candle burned beside an open window while snow cascaded inside, turning the carpet beneath it white and wet under Sansa's bare feet. She was wearing a gown of black, and the cold winter winds had given her a chill, yet she didn't done the fur coat she made nor did she close her window. Instead she watched as the snowflakes danced past the flickering candle for what felt like an hour or two, lost in thought. The door to her room opened and her handmaiden announced Ser Davos. Sansa knew she was dressed the way a noble lady should be when addressing the King's adviser, but she did not get up to change. Her body felt too tired for all that.

"My Lady." Davos greets, bowing his head respectfully. She turns to look at him and nods back. "Just wanted to come by and wish you a farewell."

"Where are you going?" She asks.

"To give a peace treaty to our Ironborn friends. They've launched a fleet to invade, and I intend to turn it around and make them see reason." Davos looks at her with concern, "Are you not freezing, my Lady?"

"I am. I don't mind." Sansa says somberly, "I didn't know you were leaving."

"Well Jon probably wanted to keep it quiet. The other lords might not appreciate the Greyjoys joining our side."

"I wouldn't know. I missed the council."

"Jon never told you anything about what you missed?"

"He's busy dealing with some wildling problems or something." Sansa muttered. "What did I miss, Ser Davos?"

Davos took in a heavy breath, crossed his hands behind his back as was his wont, and said, "Your brother wishes to have peace with the south and unite the kingdoms against our greatest threat. We've sent word to the Queen, asking for her to come here and make peace with the north."

Sansa sat upright, her eyebrow furrowed. "Cersei? You mean Cersei?"

"Why yes, my Lady?"

He was doing it again. Jon was going too far. "No. She cannot come here. She would rather see me dead than make peace with us! You have to tell him, Davos! You have to warn Jon not to do this!"

"I'm sorry… I've already sent the raven." Davos even looked apologetic, but Sansa didn't care. _How could they do this to her?_ How could Jon invite the woman who tried to murder her up here to make peace? The woman who made her life a living hell along with Joffrey. First Littlefinger, and now Cersei. Suddenly she remembered Petyr's last words to her and knew at once he would be delighted to see her distraught over this news and doubting her half-brother's judgement.

"It's fine." She said dismissively, wheeling back around to face her candle which was beginning to die from the cold, harsh winds.

"Jon knows what he's doing. Have faith in him."

"Jon promised to keep me safe," Sansa says, "It doesn't feel like he's living up to that promise."

"He loves you. You're his sister and he is your brother, half or no, blood is blood. He will keep you safe, I know it."

Sansa wished she could share in his confidence, but even here, looking down along the snow ridden ramparts of Winterfell, she couldn't shake the feeling that all of this was leading to something terrible for her. Every time she's been married it's only gotten worse for her. She needed to speak with Jon, to tell him how she felt, and try to convince him not to marry her away…

Davos excused himself from her room and she bid him farewell. The candle fizzled out and the smoke blew away in the breeze. Sansa shivered, deciding she'd had enough of the blizzard. When she reached out to pull in the glass shutters she spotted something out in the distance beyond Winterfell's gates.

* * *

Bran

The journey home had been a treacherously cold one. When the gates of Winterfell opened for them and Bran entered the castle he once thought lost, a swell of nostalgia swept over him. Bundled in furs, Bran was helped off of their horse by Meera and one of the guardsmen. Due to the snows, he did not see or hear his sister's shouts to him at first. Bran noticed a girl running toward them with bright, auburn hair, and his jaw dropped. "Sansa?"

"Bran!" Sansa cried, rushing through the snow in a gown. Tears were streaming down her face. Bran could hardly believe it.

They embraced with a powerful hug. Bran wept with tears of joy, both siblings sniffing and crying on one another like they were kids again. She smelled of winter roses, Bran thought. _She smells like home._ When she pulled back, Bran became unsupported and had to have Meera's help to remain upright. "Let's get you inside!" Sansa yells over the storm, and the two girls carried Bran into the depths of Winterfell's halls together.

At the high-table where all the lords sat discussing politics, Jon was the only one not speaking. A great beast of a man in wildling clothes are arguing with another Lord bearing the merman of House Manderly upon his sigil. A small, thin man with a pointed mustache and beard sat beside Jon, observing the quarrel with a smirk. A small girl was joining in the argument as well. The hall boomed with their words, Bran unable to make out a thing any of them were shouting. He had eyes only for Jon, and when the King of the North noticed them enter, he abruptly stood from his seat, his mouth agape and his eyes wide with shock. "Bran?"

The other lords grew quiet, watching the scene unfold. Jon Snow didn't bother moving around the lords of his table to get to them—he sprang straight over the table, causing some of the Lords to gasp with astonishment. Jon ran as fast as he could, refusing to believe his eyes until he could see him up close. When he got to him, Sansa and Meera released Bran for Jon to catch, and when he did both brothers cried out with happiness. Bran clung onto him, tears blinding him while Jon asked questions Bran could barely comprehend at first. When Bran pulled away, Jon asked again, "Are you ok?! Are you hurt anywhere?!"

"You mean besides my legs?" Bran sniffed cheerfully, "I'm fine, big brother."

Jon ran his hand over his younger brother's face, just to be sure he was real. Bran reached it and pulled it away. "Jon, I have something important I need to tell you, in private."

Jon nods, "Give me a moment, I'll kick these guys out of here and spend the rest of the evening with you." He winked as he finished, standing up and carrying Bran on his shoulders over to the table. "My Lords, my youngest brother has just returned home alive and well. I beg your forgiveness but I'm calling an end to our council session today. We will resume on the morrow."

Some of the lords seemed to disapprove. Lady Mormont, though, smiled and as she passed looked Bran up and down. "My father told me about what happened to your legs and you have my greatest sympathies, Lord Bran."

"Thank you, Lady…" Bran looked down at Jon, who grinned and finished for him, "Lady Mormont."

Once the four of them were alone they all took a seat, Sansa and Jon leaning in close to Bran on either side of him. Bran forgot all about his mission, his reasons for coming back, his experiences beyond the wall—all of it could wait. Right now, Bran didn't care. Right now, Bran just wanted to enjoy the time he could have with two of the people he loved most.

* * *

Jon

The fire in the hearth was dying by the time Bran had finished telling him about his journey. Meera and Bran would take turns describing the events. Jon learned of Jojen Reed and his passing. He learned how they ran into their uncle Benjin. He also learned about the three-eyed raven, and how his gift had apparently been passed on to Bran.

"I don't understand, this… three-eyed raven… He sounded like he knew you already before you got there?" Sansa asked.

"He did. Just as we knew where to find him through the green dreams…" Meera answers, "Well, Jojen's green dreams anyway. I was never any good at them."

"Green dreams?"

"Visions of the future, in a way. Not the same as what I've got." Bran explains, though he finds it harder to do than he realized without coming across as mad. "The three-eyed raven can go back and forth through time like a… a visitor. I've seen the past as though I was standing in it. I've learned many things from him… But there's still so much I don't know…" Bran looked at him as though he was about to say something groundbreaking. It made him uncomfortable.

"What is it?" Jon asks him with an air of uncertainty.

"Jon." Bran sighs, "Our father… and your father, are not the same man. Your mother is Lyanna Stark."

Jon could only stare back as his words washed over him. "Aunt Lyanna? Wait?" He leaned back in his chair, confusion tugging at his mind. "You're saying… So then who is my father?!"

"Do you remember what happened to Lyanna?" Bran asks him, "She was kidnapped from Robert, taken prisoner in the tower of joy. She was raped to death, according to tales. But this wasn't true. She died giving birth to you, Jon. You are—"

"A Targaryen." Sansa says quietly, as if to herself.

Jon Snow looked from Bran, to Sansa, to Meera, then shook his head with a frown. "Is this a jest? I don't understand. Bran, how could you possibly know this?"

"I've seen it, Jon. Through the weirwood trees, remember?"

"That's impossible."

"He's not lying to you." Meera says.

"I can't be a Targaryen, the last of the Targaryens died with maester Aemon! I don't know what kind of trick you're playing at Bran but it's got to stop."

"Jon." Sansa says, taking his hand in her own forcefully. "Listen to him. Why would Bran lie?"

"I'd never lie to you, Jon." Bran says, "You're my brother."

"If you're telling me the truth then I'm not your brother, am I?! Or yours?!" Jon somehow found himself standing, looking between his siblings with horror.

"You will always be my big brother, Jon. I don't give a damn what blood you have. You might be a Targaryen but Stark blood is still in your veins!" Bran insists.

"That won't matter if the truth gets out." Jon said, running a hand through his hair, "All they'll see is the fact that I'm the last of the Targaryens! My Bannermen, the north, all of it could come crashing down if this gets out! I could get cast down, executed even for…"

"Jon, calm down!" Sansa insists, gripping his hand even harder. "Look around. You can trust us! If this is true we will keep it to ourselves!"

Bran said, "I don't know why but the visions… they showed me this for a reason. Jon, I believe you are important in the war to come against the White Walkers and your bloodline has to have something to do with that! I don't know what, but I trust them. I've seen things I never could have and they've led me here to you. If you want to keep it a secret, fine, but just remember that our father kept this from you for a reason."

_For a reason…?_

_Next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother…_ Ned Stark's last words to him. _What did you want to say, Dad? Could it be about why Rhaegar would take Lyanna as his own?_ Jon's head filled up with questions and no answers while Sansa and Bran watched him.

"I was right to feel like I was never a part of this family." Jon said with disdain, "If you're right, my own father lied to me my entire life."

"King Robert would have you killed if he learned of your true lineage." Bran said.

"Jon," Sansa leans in and gives him a hug, "You will always be our family. You will always be a Stark. We don't care about any of that. Okay?"

Jon smiles and thanks her. "I'm sorry, I know I'm overreacting, it's just… I really just can't believe this. How do these visions of yours work, Bran?"

"I touch the weirwood tree and… well, I feel like I warg into it in a way, and the roots take me back and sometimes forward in time, I think. Sometimes I have control, sometimes the visions are in control. And sometimes…" Bran glanced down at his arm. Jon frowned, curious about what he was about to reveal next. "Sometimes I make mistakes." Bran admits quietly, thinking about Hodor. "The Night's King, he found me and he left his mark on me." Bran tugged back on his sleeve to reveal the blue, claw-like bruises over his wrist. Sansa gasped with horror and Jon leaned inward to inspect them closely. "I don't know how he did it but he did and we were no longer safe… Jon, when I went through The Wall it cracked."

"It cracked? How much damage to the castle?"

"None, really. Not yet. Jon, I think it was because I went through it. The realm is no longer safe and The Wall is starting to break. Winter is here and the Long Night comes. I'm sorry, Jon. I wish I could change it but what's done is done… You can't change the past…"

"Bran... Sometimes The Wall gets cracks in it. It's only natural. I'm sure this mark isn't going to be the thing that brings down The Wall, alright?"

"Jon, you don't know. You didn't see. It happened right after I came through!"

Jon shook his head, wishing to hear no more of these grim stories. "Bran, please. We can discuss this again later. The Wall still stands, does it not?"

"It does…"

"I will send men to defend it when the time comes. But first I must unite all of the realm if we're going to even stand a chance, okay? If your mark brings down The Wall we will be ready for them, but only by making sure we all stand together first." He reached out and tussled Bran's hair. "Thank you for telling me this. I'm glad you're back, little brother."

* * *

Cersei

"From the new King in the North, Jon Snow. I have been informed that there is a new Queen in the south. I would be honored and humbled to have her Grace come visit us in Winterfell where we can make acquaintance and create an alliance that can unite the seven kingdoms for the war against the true threat beyond The Wall. Winter is here, and the long night comes. The Night's King and his army…" Qyburn pauses as he reads from the parchment before him, "His army of the undead have the power to destroy Westeros and bring down every noble house from Winterfell to Dorne."

"What is this foolishness you've brought to me today, Qyburn?" Cersei asks with an impatient raised eyebrow from her seat atop the iron throne. "Army of the undead? This King in the North must be mad if he thinks I'd believe such a statement."

"He goes on, your Grace, to ask once more that you come and give peace a chance." Qyburn lowers the letter and smiles benignly across the stairs at Jaime, who had listened to every word with a look of despair on his face.

"Perhaps we should take this man's words more seriously, your Grace." The Queen's brother says sharply, "The Starks have taken back Winterfell and united the north. They could be declaring war with us right now, instead they are asking us for help!"

"The Starks are dead, Ser Jaime, and don't make me remind you of that fact. This Bastard King has no right to his title. The only Stark alive is Sansa and I would have her head on a spike!" Cersei declares, remembering Joffrey's murder and how to this day she still did not know who was responsible. She'd always accused Tyrion, yet in her heart she thought she knew it was Sansa's doing. "The wretched whore has paraded around the north long enough. I think it's time we brought her back home where she belongs."

"You cannot be suggesting we go to war with the north?" Jaime narrows his eyes at her. She hated it when he did this, acted superior. Did he forget who sat the throne? Jaime went on, "With the combined forces of the north they outnumber us easily."

"Not with the support of Houses Tarly and Frey." Cersei reminds him, "Our combined strength can outmatch any army."

"Except we would be invading them! Their land! The north has always belonged to them!"

"The north belongs to the crown!" Cersei shouts, her eyes wide with fury while her hands cut themselves along the Iron Throne's barbs. "I will not have another false king stand before me and act as my equal! They will bend the knee or I will burn the north to ashes!"

"Your grace, perhaps your brother is wise to council restraint in this matter." Qyburn piped in and Jaime was honestly shocked to find the little old man on his side for once.

"Even my hand agrees with you Jaime. Good thing the hand does not control the crown or we would have civil unrest." Cersei smirked, though nobody smiled back. She noticed the crowd in the hall had thinned out. Not many dared enter to bear witness to the Mad Queen anymore.

"Cersei, allow them the chance to speak with you at the very least and hear them out. If this talk about a bigger threat than we know is true…" Jaime remembered Eddard Stark's words, _Winter is Coming_ , just then and wondered if this could be what he'd always meant.

"I will not hear them out and I will certainly not be traveling all the way up to Winterfell only to get stranded in the snow and butchered by bandits." Cersei glared at Jaime, an eager glean to her menace. "Ser Jaime, you will go in my stead. You will bring with you the entire army of House Lannister and our Bannermen so when they see you they will know our strength and my power."

"You really are mad if you think I'm leaving you here with the city unprotected!" Jaime spat, getting several gasps from the crowd. He knew he had crossed a line with that comment but he didn't care. He couldn't take this anymore.

"You will do as your Queen commands you!" Cersei bellowed, her fingers bleeding as the throne's swords pierced her. "Your defiance is getting boring, brother. Do as I command or I will find a man who will. You represent House Lannister, you who was our father's son instead of I. You who inherited a gift for warfar _e. You will obey me or face the consequences!"_

"I will go, but I will not bring an army." Jaime says, turning around and walking away with anger. He wanted to go before she could stop him, but Cersei called out to her guards. Jaime's good hand was ready, and released his sword from its sheath before any of them could, turning about-face in a dueling stance, daring all six Queensguard to come at him with a look.

"Your Grace!" Qyburn pipes in again before any battle can take place, "I have to agree with your brother. If we send our full force into the north while winter comes for us they will all surely perish in the snows. We will be more than defenseless if this happens. We'll have no army at all. And a Queen without an army…"

Cersei hated to admit it but his argument at least made more sense than her brother's. "Fine. My Hand has counseled me wisdom. Jaime Lannister, ride north on your own or with that filthy sellsword of yours if you wish, I do not care. Only return with the King of the North's head or a fealty agreement sealed in his signature and swearing they bent the knee to you. If you fail in this, I will renounce you of all titles to your name and declare you an enemy of the crown and a traitor to the realm. Understand?"

"A traitor to the realm?" Jaime wished to say more but kept his mouth shut, one of the hardest things he hated having to do, especially when it came to her. He wanted to yell, to fight, to cut them all down, take his sister off that throne and run away with her like they once dreamed of doing… But that would never happen. "I understand." He said, returning his sword to its resting place, "When shall I take leave?"

"Soon. I wish to enjoy you to myself for a few more nights." Cersei smiled.

* * *

Arya

King's Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. How long had it been since she last stood before its towering walls? She couldn't count it. She only knew that seeing it now filled her with a sense of dread. This was the world she had left behind, a world full of misery and decay and memories… She entered with the face of the serving girl she used to kill Walder Frey, casting friendly smiles at anyone curious enough to give her a glance. There were guards on duty and she waited until they were busy dealing with beggars asking for coin to slip past them. At once she noticed the poverty had gotten a lot worse. People were starving in the streets, some naked, others draped in only rags, reaching out to her as she passed and begging for anything. Arya had to ignore them, moving her way down the street of sisters and coming upon the rubble that was once the great Sept of Baelor. This was where it happened. The statue of Baelor was no longer there, only his head remained. It stared at her, disembodied amidst the debris, bringing back painful memories of Eddard Stark's execution.

Then she saw the naked woman strung up by a chain. Crows had feasted on her flesh, tearing the skin from her face to reveal the skull beneath. Hanging around her neck was a sign written in blood that read: **SHAME.**

Arya narrowed her eyes as she watched the Smallfolk avoid the gruesome spectacle with furtive glances. She seemed the only one bold enough to stand and there and stare at it.

Cersei, the Mad Queen, had already determined her fate. For the death of her father, her mother, her brother, and all who suffered under her reign, Arya swore to herself with her hand gripping tightly onto Needle that she would put an end to it all and have her revenge. She would see Cersei with her own face, look the Mad Queen right in the eye, and tell her she was Arya Stark before cutting off her head for the world to bear witness.


	3. Dracarys

**Episode Three**

** Dracarys **

* * *

Jorah

Never in his entire life did Jorah hate himself more than he did right now. This woman, as beautiful as she was, was no better than a monster—raping him against his will, pinning him to the bed with rope, stuffing a gag in his mouth to silence his protests while she performed her ritual. The witch then turned and beckoned for Victarion to bring her something. Jorah did his best to ignore her warm, pulsating depths—but his body reacted against his will too. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman, so in mere minutes he had already jerked with spasms that told Kinvara she completed her duty… yet she did not get off. She just went on, back and forth, moaning between her foreign whispers, her hands washing his body with a strange, charcoal smelling black powder he'd never seen before. She covered his grey-scaled arm with it, unafraid of the disease the threatened to infect her. While she did this she whispered in Valyrian under her breath, her chest rising and falling with every thrust. Jorah's heart hammered painfully. He watches as all of the cracks and fissures that jigsawed their way up his arm begin to glow a fiery red light. He screams with agony, writhing from the torture, pleading with tear-stricken eyes for her to stop. Kinvara's chant rose to a higher pitch, sounding as though in ecstasy. His whole arm trembled and he thought it might explode from the pressure mounting beneath his skin. His flesh, rotten as it already was, turned a shade of black while all his hairs singed off. The cracks cooled and hissed with a simmering shade of red as though lava ran through his veins. Jorah could only watch helplessly as his arm was mutated before his eyes.

When she was done he felt as though his whole body has been drained of all its energy. His head weighed a million tons and drowsiness was beginning to take over. Kinvara climbed down dressing gracefully in her red gown, not an ounce of shame on her face. Jorah hated them all. Had he'd known what awaited him he never would've approached the ships he'd seen off the coast… Yet he'd been desperate to find a cure and the only place he could think to look would be in Oldtown where all of the maesters were bound to have some knowledge. _What would Daenerys think if she knew of this?_

"What magic is this?!" Victarion growled from his dark corner, shoving his woman aside to get in closer for a better look. "His arm… I'm never seen this before in my life…"

"The disease has been cleansed. The infection will no longer spread. Thankfully only his arm was sacrificed to the Lord of Light. It will be useless to him now, but better a cripple than dead." Kinvara tells him.

"What's to stop me from killing him right now?"

"You need him, I told you this." Kinvara says sternly, "He is your prisoner. Use him and the Mother of Dragons will be forced to accept your proposal."

"And if you're wrong and she decides to burn us all like her father would?" Victarion asks, his hand gripping the handle of his sword.

"I would die as well and I have no plans on dying. Trust in me."

Perhaps it was the way she spoke to him or the look in her eyes, but Jorah personally thought she was casting a spell on the huge, battle-weathered captain. Victarion grunted and left the room, dragging his saltwife by her wrist along with him to finish his needs in private. Alone with the Red Priestess and on the verge of passing out, Jorah asks in a dry, throaty voice, "What did you do to me?"

"The Lord of Light showed me a vision of you, Jorah Mormont. I guided Victarion here where I could find you. I healed your arm, because the Lord has great plans for you yet. You will be a champion for the Dragon Queen in the wars to come. People will fear your name, and your power. For now we must wait and fool the Greyjoy Captain until the time is right. Your arm is not ruined, it has been… enhanced. Have faith in the Red God, for he has given you a great gift that will give you everything you've ever longed for—another chance at love."

* * *

Arya

"I saw'r a man today jump off the walls and crash into the Blackwater rocks while his son watched and waved goodbye like he was just takin' a trip." Muttered Rynold before taking a swig from his tankard. "Any of you think you can beat that?"

"I've got the winner but I'll save the best for last." Snickered Harwick, picking at his nose with a dagger.

"You always say that but you never win." Thod points out, "I've got one but it's not as funny as Rynold's. I found some kids in an alleyway eating a dead dog, their hands digging through its guts like a pie and stuffing their faces with blood. I nearly lost me own lunch after that."

"What'd you do?" Rynold asks, hardly sounding like he cared.

"I kicked at them until they ran off of course. One kept eating even after I whipped him with my sword. Must've been starving, the little monsters!" Thod laughs, shaking his head, and takes a drink of his ale. A mistress wearing nothing but a translucent gown came up and served them another platter of drinks and chicken. Harwick smacked her on the butt while Thod inspected the chicken. Several flies were buzzing around it.

"Woman! What is the meaning of this?! This food is rotten!"

"I-It can't be, m'lords." The serving wench said, her eyes wide with horror.

"I'll have this place shut down!" Thod looked like he was about to stand when Harwick grabbed his arm, chuckling.

"Sit down, we're off duty."

"This wench means to poison us!"

"I'm sure it was a mistake. M'lady, will you fix our meal for us?"

"I-I'm terribly sorry, m'lords. We don't have any chickens left. This was the last we could…"

"Find?" Thod looked unimpressed. "No wonder this place is in shambles. You'll be out of business without my help before long. Fucking commoners."

"May I finally tell mine now? I swear I've got you both beat." Harwick pleads with a wicked grin.

"Fine, go ahead." Rynold yawns.

The serving wench walked away, whispering to a fellow co-worker to avoid the Lannister guards unless called for. The three men didn't hear her, but Arya did. She sat at the bar with her head down low, the face of an old man over her real one. She was pretending to be passed out from too much drink. She found that with her eyes closed, she could hear the entire room better, and was able to focus her attention on each one of them and their words. Three empty tankards sat in front of her. She hated alcohol, but to keep up appearances she drank all three, and although she was only pretending to be unconscious, the lightheadedness was very real. She could see why men like the Hound would constantly partake of it.

Harwick cleared his throat and told his story, "Today I was down in Flea Bottom where the real sick shit you can find lies. The Lord Commander said someone had stolen one of the heads off of the walls where we mounted them last week, and had me looking for the freak that snatched it. Just so happens it was the head of that boy, y'know, the one the Kingslayer struck down in cold blood. Don't know how he got it down from up there, must've had help. Anyways, I find this hysterical woman telling me there's a man doing terrible things behind one of the shops in the market. I go there and guess what he was doing to it?"

"Was he eating it?" Asks Rynold, sounding bored as always. "If he was eating it then I think I win. Suicide is more disturbing than cannablism."

"He wasn't eating it." Harwick sounded like he was about to bust his gut with laughter. "He had his pants down and he was fucking it! Giving himself a blowjob right there behind the shops for any and all who walked by could see. The fucking lunatic was shouting something crazy but I don't remember what. We cut him down and put both their heads where they belonged, though now the kid's mouth won't stay closed!" He couldn't contain it—the laugh came barking out of him and both of his buddies laughed along with him before all three chugged their drinks.

Arya couldn't handle this much longer. These men deserved to be put down just as much as the Queen. For now though she needed to remain in the shadows, watching and listening. After one day Arya had found an innkeep on the edge of the city where mostly fishermen lived. One allowed her to stay for free if she helped catch fish. Arya agreed, and had spent her whole morning out in the Blackwater. She had shelter and food to eat during the day. At night she would spend her time spying on the Lannister guards. These three in particular were a chatty bunch she picked from the rest. They spoke often and loudly, though their rudeness and selfishness was hard to bear sometimes. At first she thought Harwick was the best of them, but after her first night on the job she quickly realized he was by far the worst and most devious. The other two had copper for brains compared to him. She once followed him back to his quarters where she heard him raping a woman inside, keeping her locked away just for him. It was after this she added the man to her list.

Hours went by as the men got drunk, got up from the table, and paid the barkeep with a fart and a laugh. "Like we're going to pay you slum to do your jobs. Consider yourselves lucky we don't execute the lot of you for serving us rotting chicken." Harwick told them, leading his little posse out the doors…

Arya's eyes snapped open and suddenly the old man who had been passed out in the shadows sat up straight, took out his coin purse (which Arya had stolen), and paid the barkeep an extra coin. "Thanks for your help." Was all the old man told him before shuffling out the door with a spring in his step that gave the barkeep and his serving wench pause.

Once outside, Arya moved into the shadows, and watched through the eyes of an old man as the three guards in their red armor and capes shoved beggars in the streets out of their way, yelling harshly at anyone they could. Half naked people with nowhere to live, starving in the gutters, and begging for help… and all these men could do was threaten them? Arya followed, keeping herself within earshot, as the sun began to set overhead. Pretty soon they would all go home, and Arya would leave without feeling like she was getting any closer to finding a way into the Red Keep. The only plan she could think of would be to steal one of the guard's faces… But Arya knew she could never pass as a guard with her short and skinny stature. Old people and young boys or girls she could do, she had stolen those faces from the House of Black and White, but none of them would get her beyond the audience chamber where it was impossible to assassinate the Queen in front of so many witnesses and, on top of that, her royal Queensguard.

As Harwick, Rynold, and Thod headed toward the Red Keep, Arya heard the third say, "Have you heard the tales about a so-called rebellion hiding somewhere in the city?"

Harwick snickered, "A rebellion of poor and starving insects is hardly a rebellion at all."

"That's what the Queen thinks too."

Arya crept closer, wanting to hear more of this. Harwick went on, saying, "Aye, I heard of them. What of it, Thod?"

"Think the peasants would dare rise up now? After what happened at the Sept?" Rynold mocks.

"Not really, I was just wondering if you guys heard about it is all."

"If any of them try and start something the Queen will put them down. No question about it. You've seen that giant that protects her. I don't think any army of beggars would stand a chance against that thing, let alone all of us."

Arya stopped and watched them go. She'd heard enough for one night. These fools wouldn't know anything else about the rebellion. They'd already changed the subject to the dissent in quality of whores these days. She would need to look somewhere else to find out more about this rebellion and if they were worth looking into.

She listens to the whispers in the night as she hobbles the streets, hearing conversations and learning about the people's plight. The Tyrells had shut off supplies for the capital, so its people were starving and the Queen was holding all of the stores in her keep for herself. Every so often she would hear whispers of the rebellion and a man they call The Iron Bull that leads them. It wasn't until close to morning when she saw a crowd of people who all were walking hurriedly up a street from the dockyard. All of them had an air of having just done something wrong, and Arya suspected these people might have answers. She followed a couple—a young man and woman in dirty clothes, down into Flea Bottom. She followed them all the way to the bridge that they lived under, and watched as they started a fire. Arya decided she was going to approach them, and checked her face to make sure the old man's features were still in all the right places. Last thing she needed was for the mask to slip and scare away the homeless duo.

"Excuse me, you two? Might I share your fire?" She asks in an old and dry voice she'd practiced. They both jumped, looking her up and down and smiling nervously.

"Of course." Says the man, "Our fire is yours. We don't have any food we can share… and the water is undrinkable. But there's plenty of room for you here, my friend."

"Thank you." Arya, acting as the old man, hobbles toward them slowly, bundling herself up under her tattered robes. "It's a cold night, eh?"

"Winter's coming." said the woman, half her teeth missing, as she held a tin can of water over the fire. "That's what they say in the north."

"Winter's already here." Corrects the man, "Just hasn't snowed yet."

"Are you two a couple?" Arya asks, keeping her voice in line with her disguise.

They both giggled. "No, brother and sister. Well, half-brother and sister. Same Mom, Different Da'."

"I have a half-brother too." Arya says, coughing. "Erm, well, I did. He's dead now, I mean."

"That's a shame." Says the young woman.

"He was a good man…"

"We need more good men in this world." Sighs the brother. All three of them huddle closer around the small, flickering flames. Arya feels she can trust these people, and asks them their names.

"I'm Baenor and my sister is—"

"I can say my own bloody name myself, brother." Snapped his sister fiercely, making them both laugh. "I'm Hilda. What's your name, old man?"

"Yoren." She replies with a croak. "You wouldn't recognize my family name so I won't bother."

"Same for us." Hilda grins, "We weren't always like this, though."

"Lived on a farm out in the Stormlands until our ma' passed. Father died hunting when we were kids. So we decided to come here, thinking 'what better place for opportunity', eh?" Baenor grimaces.

"Fucking Lannisters. This city use to be something until they came along." Hilda says sourly.

"The Mad Queen deserves to hang." The old man agrees, eyeing them keenly as both of them glance at each other. "Sorry. I know it's treason to say such things."

"We understand. Listen Yoren, have you heard about the…" Baenor leans in closely and whispers, "The Rebellion?"

The old man frowns and shakes her head.

"Baenor, wait…" Hilda says, looking scared.

"It's ok, sister. We can trust this man. I can tell."

Arya smiles, "What's this about a rebellion?"

"A man who calls himself the Iron Bull leads it. We never see his face. He wears a helm over it whenever he speaks to us." Baenor grins like a child, "He's a warrior, he says. Claims to have killed more than a hundred Lannisters and will not stop until he sees the Queen dead as well."

"He's truly inspirational to us all." Hilda sighs, "But so far we haven't been doing much but meeting at the docks at night to listen to him speak. He gives us hope, like he knows exactly how he's going to fix the city…"

"Sounds like a great man. I'd like to meet him."

They both smile and say in unison, "We can arrange that."

* * *

Podrick

The edge of the forest drew near. He could hear the sound of horses traveling along the road. Pod scrambled as fast as he could, his hair caught in a net of spider webs, his cheeks and hands scratched from thorns, and his clothes were dripping with mud. He was starving and thirsty, close to passing out. The cold winter winds made his wet clothes freeze to his skin, the open road vast in all directions as the ground was covered with snow. Several travelers making way south on horseback and a carriage dragging behind them were watching him with queer expressions of suspicion. Podrick ran up to them, waving his arms wildly and shouting, "Stop! Please! I need help!"

The carriage wheels came to a shuttering halt in the slush and the two travelers, one chubby and the other bony, studied him from their horses. "Who're you supposed to be?" Asked the larger man.

"I-I'm Podrick Payne! I'm a squire for Lady Brienne! I need help, she's—"

"Squire for a lady?" Interrupted the bonier man with a commoner's drawl. "I've seen a lot but never seen any lady knight befores."

"She is a knight!" Pod said, frustrated. He almost said for who before he realized he didn't know these men. They could hate the Starks and love the Lannisters for all he knew. He debated whether or not he should risk saying Brienne was Lady Sansa's swornsword when the sound of another horse riding up on them from behind caught his attention. He turned and saw a giant of a man in black cloak and leathers, with long, brown hair in drags around his face. Pod blinked, recognizing the man but taking a moment to realize it was Ser Sandor Clegane staring down at him.

"Bloody Hell, Pod." Growled the Hound. "What have you gotten yourself into now?"

"Clegane!" Pod exclaimed, remembering the last time he saw the man. "I thought you…"

"Died? _Hmph_. Might as well have. Nothing really to live for now." The Hound narrowed his eyes and looked on ahead toward the north, a strange clairvoyance to him Podrick had never seen in the man before. "Tell me. Where's Brienne of fucking Tarth? Aren't you her errand boy?"

"I'm her squire." Pod tried to correct him.

"Same thing."

"Brienne's been captured by the Crannogmen! I need help getting her back!"

The Hound gave him a disbelieving stare. "Why the fuck were you so close to the frog-eaters then? Everyone knows not to go through that swamp."

"We were taking a boat up from the Riverlands… Brienne thought it safer to stay off the roads for a while."

"She was wrong. You don't seriously expect me to ride in there and do something about it?"

"Well… yes, actually. I was hoping so. Look, I know you probably aren't fond of her after what happened…"

"That's the understatement of the fucking century." The Hound chuckled, trotting his horse forward while Pod followed him.

"She was only trying to fulfill her duty to Lady Catelyn!" Pod defended, waving to the two carriage-dragging travelers who watched them go with bewildered faces. "She didn't want a fight! I was there! There didn't need to be a fight, both of you wanted to look after Arya!"

The Hound glared down at him, making Pod question whether or not he should've gone so far. This man could cut him down without a second thought… "You should hitch a ride with those two and leave me be." Was all he said, spurring his horse to trot faster.

"Those aren't warriors like you! Please, Clegane, she needs our help! She is Sansa Stark's Swornsword and we need to get back to Winterfell to protect her!" Pod pleaded.

"If that's true then ask the Stark girl to send men." The Hound replied, forcing his horse to abruptly stop again, "I'm heading there myself. You'll die out here without a horse dressed like that… come on then. You ride with me, just watch your hands don't grab onto anything low."

Pod was shocked. What had changed his mind? "Th-Thank you, Ser Clegane… But I can't abandon my lady!"

"I'm no knight, Pod. Either you hop up here or I leave you to freeze in the snows. Doesn't make a difference to me." The Hound growled, watching as the little man struggled to decide for a moment before finally rushing up to climb aboard the horse behind him. The Hound rolled his eyes and reached down to help him. When Pod was saddled with both his arms barely reaching around Sandor's midriff, they continued northward. "I'm not stopping again until I need to take a shit, so don't fall off."

* * *

Bran

_Wake up!_ A distant voice called, the Three-Eyed Raven. Bran couldn't see. Darkness surrounded him. He thought he could feel eyes on him. He tried to escape, running as fast as his legs could carry him, but the darkness was endless. Everywhere he turned, blue eyes stared back at him. _Wake up!_ Bran began to panic, inhaling icy air and realizing he was about to die. _Wake up, Bran! Wake up!_

Bran woke up, back in his old bedroom in the bed he once called his own. Meera was standing over him holding a tray of breakfast for him. She had a concerned look on her face that told Bran right away he'd been having a nightmare again. "Are you alright? Was it the visions?" She asks, sitting down on the bed beside his inoperable legs. Bran felt his moist forehead and realized he'd been sweating profusely. Before he can answer her questions, she asks "Was it the White Walkers?"

"I think it was just a nightmare." Bran told her softly, "Don't worry about it."

Bran and Meera had been given his old chambers. Jon had offered Meera a separate room, to which both she and Bran agreed to share. Jon was happy with this news, and congratulated Bran on finding a woman when Meera was not within earshot. Bran told him everything about her, and how they'd grown fond of each other. Neither of them thought they would be able to sleep in a bedroom alone after everything they experienced, and Bran was happy to have her beside him when he slept. She was warm and quiet and never fussed when Bran tried to take all the sheets for himself in his sleep. She was good to him, always aiding him move throughout the castle and finding him meals. She went with him everywhere he went. Jon liked her and the two got along splendidly, much to Bran's relief. Sansa on the other hand had barely spoken two words to her. Bran didn't think she had anything against her, but he did think Sansa had grown… _distant_ since he'd last seen her. When she told him she might be getting married soon, both Bran and Meera had congratulated her, only to be received with a heart-breaking look of sadness. Before Bran could ask more, she fled with tears in her eyes. Jon told her not to worry about her, and that he was going to take care of it.

"We should see my brother today. I need to remind him again about The Wall, make sure he sends Lord Commander Ed more soldiers like I promised him." Bran says as he eats his toast and eggs. "I can't shake this feeling that something bad is going to happen soon."

"The Wall has never fallen, Bran, and if it does it won't be your fault. We went over this." Meera sighed, caressing his knee even though he could not feel it. "You take on too much responsibility."

"I'm the Three-Eyed Raven now. I have to." Bran said, "Ever since I was given this ability… I feel like nothing can surprise me. I feel like I know everything ahead of time without really knowing it."

"What do you mean?" Meera asks.

"I don't know how else to explain it." Bran's mood only worsened the more he spoke of it. Nobody would ever understand what it was like. This power… He had no idea how to use it, only that if used carelessly innocent people could suffer the consequences.

"Have you thought about using the werewood tree that's here in Winterfell?" Meera asks, "Maybe we can learn more now that we've accomplished what the visions guided us here to do."

"Maybe. I don't really know how it works. I don't control the visions I see, but I can sometimes control where in the past I want to visit, like at the Tower of Joy."

"Where in the past do you want to go?"

"I'm not sure yet. There's so much I still don't know. I'm afraid it might take me a long time to learn everything." Bran sighed, "But now that we're here, hopefully I have all the time in the world. I would like to try and learn more about Rhaegar Targaryen and why he chose our Aunt over his own wife, like the tales say."

"We could ask my father and see what he knows." Meera suggested, "He's a good man. He's also a Warg, like you. He taught Jojen and I everything about you and the Three-Eyed Raven that he knew, which wasn't much to begin with, only that he'd seen you in a vision and that protecting you was important."

"You never speak of your Dad much." Bran remarks.

"He's a good man but he's also a hard one to handle sometimes. He was plagued with Greyscale when he was younger. He left when I was still in my mother's womb to find a cure and when he returned he claimed he was healed… Mother always said something had changed in him after he came back. I don't know what she meant. She passed away a year before we met you. I love my father and I would do anything for him, as he would for me. He's the one who sent us to find you. He deserves to know about Jojen as well…"

"I remember Jojen said that when he told your father the news of my father's death, he saw him cry for the first time in his life. I'd like to meet your father." Bran smiles, taking her hand in his. She smiles warmly back at him before leaning in and planting a quick, soft kiss on his lips. Bran's cheeks burned. It was the first time he'd ever been kissed by a girl. Both of them stared into each other's eyes, and Bran knew then and there that he loved her.

"Whoa." Bran said.

Meera grinned, "Bet you didn't see _that_ coming."

* * *

Jon

The long, dark corridors stretched on into darkness ahead. The Crypts of Winterfell was a place Jon preferred to avoid. He'd always been afraid whenever Ned Stark took him down here. This time, Jon had Ghost with him, and riding on the white direwolves back was Bran. Both brother eyed the statues they passed wearily, until finally coming upon the one they'd set out to find, Lyanna Stark.

"So this was my mother…" Jon says under his breath, stroking the statue's cheek and admiring its grace. He could tell whoever carved this from stone took care with it. "I never knew much about her. Father… I mean, Lord Eddard always spoke kindly about her…"

He could feel Bran's eyes on him. "He was your father, Jon. He raised you."

"He lied to me my entire life." Jon says sourly.

"He was protecting you."

"He could have told me. Any time he wanted he could've told me the truth." Jon grimaced. "I remember he almost did the last time I saw him. He promised to speak of my mother next time we met."

"Father loved you like his own son, Jon." Bran told him, remembering how Theon had once betrayed them and wondering if he had felt similar to how Jon was feeling now.

"We're technically cousins, y'know." Jon smiles down at him.

"We're brothers and we'll always be brothers. I don't care what blood you have."

Jon smiles and wraps his arm around Bran's head, mussing his hair with his knuckles. The two of them laughed like they did when they were younger, their laughter booming down the hollow halls.

"Am I interrupting?"

Jon and Bran turned and saw Petyr Baelish standing a few feet away with his arms behind his back and a sly smirk on his face.

Terror struck Jon's heart. _How much had he heard?_

"Lord Brandon." Petyr bows before them curtly, "When I heard you had arrived I nearly wept with joy. Lady Catelyn may rest at peace knowing her children are together and safe once again… Well, almost all of them… You have my deepest sympathies for your losses and all you've been through, Lord Stark."

"I thank you, Lord…" Bran trailed off, looking to Jon for answers.

"Baelish." Jon says. Ghost, meanwhile, was baring his fangs at the man. Littlefinger seemed unperturbed by this though.

"You may call me Petyr, Lord Stark." Littlefinger smiles, "Though chances are you'll be used to calling me Littlefinger soon, as most in the realm has taken to calling me."

"Petyr is fine," Bran smiles politely. Jon reminded himself to inform Bran later not to trust Lord Baelish. Bran was innocently smiling up at him, unaware that this was the last man in Winterfell that Jon wanted to know about his bloodline.

"Lord Baelish, may I speak to you in private?" Jon asks before Littlefinger can address Bran further. Littlefinger simply nods and the two men leave, Jon assuring he'll be back soon. Bran watches him go from the back of Ghost, the candles around every shrine flickering in the darkness that surrounded him…

Once they were deeper into the crypts, Jon realized he had never been down this far before. The air down here was hotter and harder to breath. The candles burned brighter here as well. Before Jon could wonder why this was, Littlefinger turned to address him. "Forgive me, I came looking for you and did not expect to find you with your brother."

"I expected you would. I suppose you're looking for your answer."

"I am." Littlefinger's smile widened.

"My sister does not wish to marry you."

"That much is clear, your Grace."

"But we need your Knights of the Vale for the wars to come as well as the support of the people. You know this as well as I. So I will grant you permission to marry Sansa, but only under certain conditions." Jon never looked away from his eyes as he spoke, watching for any sign of disappointment or displeasure. "You must treat my sister with love and care that you claim to have for her. That means if I hear one word of abuse, mistreatment in any way at all, then I will have your head. Second condition is that Sansa must stay here in Winterfell. It is her home, not the Vale. You are welcome to stay here and leave when you wish, but you must never force her to leave her home against her will. You break this, and I will hunt you down and have your head. Thirdly, you will respect Sansa's wishes and there will be no bedding ceremony after the wedding. She will have her own room to herself and you will not be permitted to court her until she consents. These conditions are unnegotiable. Break them, and I will have your head."

Littlefinger's expression could have been a mask, for he did not betray a single emotion. "I understand, your Grace. After everything she's been through, I do not blame her."

"You're really fine with all of that?"

"Of course. You are her brother, after-all. You have every right to set these terms just as you have every right to marry your sister to me as King of the North." Littlefinger's words unnerved Jon. How could he be so accepting? Jon had expected resistance yet Littlefinger looked happier than ever. "When might we be wed, your Grace?"

"In a few days. We must prepare. We can marry you in the godswood, or—"

"I'd prefer somewhere else, if you don't mind me saying, your Grace. Sansa was married to Ramsay Snow in those woods. I have no desire to put Lady Sansa through traumatic memories. I would prefer, by your permission, to marry Sansa in the great hall."

"We can arrange it." Jon agrees.

"I thank you, Jon. You are a wiser man than your father was. Ned Stark's honor was his undoing in the end. Not Cersei or Joffrey is truly at fault. It was his honor that killed him. Such an honorable man, I can only imagine what it must be like to follow in a man like that's footsteps…" Jon sensed that he was implying something about Jon that he didn't like, and his contempt for Lord Baelish grew.

"I'm proud of him. Men like you could do well learn from his example."

Littlefinger actually laughed at this. "Some men can only dream of being honorable. Most men think they are, when in fact they're worse than those they despise. But you're right, Lord Stark was the most honorable man I've ever known… Such honor… I wonder…"

"Wonder what, Lord Baelish?"

"Such a strange thing. How could a man as honorable as Eddard Stark betray his family and bring home a bastard from the war? Such a strange thing, one might find hard to believe, your Grace. I suppose none of us will ever truly know, will we?" Littlefinger cast him a shrewd look as he walked away. Jon watched him go, wondering if he'd just made a terrible mistake.

* * *

Arya

It was midnight. Hundreds of people were pushing and shoving each other to get a better look at the Iron Bull. Arya, posing as an old man, kept in character and remained out of the commotion, staying in the back with her two new friends. Baenor and Hilda showed her the way to the secret meeting place, whispering three separate passwords at three separate checkpoints to get in. Arya was impressed. As they watch the crowd of peasants, some naked and starving, The Iron Bull can be seen standing before them all making a grand speech.

"The Mad Queen's reign has gone on long enough! Our people starve and die in the streets! Our children resort to cannibalism! Do we do nothing about this disgrace? Do we sit by and watch our once proud city fall?!" The Iron Bull's voice was deep and commanding, muffled only by the bull's helmet he wore over his head. Arya couldn't believe her eyes. She'd seen a helmet like that before. But it couldn't be. It was impossible…

"If every man, woman, and child rose up against her we could take it all back from them! We'd outnumber her army ten to one! Spread our message, good people! Spread our message to everyone with ears to hear it! I want the city to feel the rage I feel when I look around at all of your tired faces! I am only one man! I alone cannot defeat the Mad Queen! But together we can overcome this tyranny!"

A swell of cheers burst forth from everyone around her and Arya lost sight of the Iron Bull behind fists pumping through the air. She cursed her smallness, trying to peek over their heads but to no avail. "I want to meet him." She tells Baenor and Hilda.

"Don't we all? But nobody here knows his true name or face. He is a mystery knight." Hilda says dreamily, watching as the Iron Bull strode back and forth, riling them on.

"You all follow a man and you've never seen his face?" Arya asks, almost losing control of her voice.

"Aye. We trust him. He keeps his face hidden so that if the Mad Queen finds out about us nobody can rat him out."

As the Iron Bull finished his speech, he bowed before them all, drawing his sword and plunging it into the earth. "I hereby pledge to you all on my honor as a knight! I will take back King's Landing! I will take back your homes! The time will come where we will all stand together and fight the oppression!" More cheers from the crowd followed this. The Iron Bull seems to look right at Arya and she gulps, nearly forgetting that she was wearing a mask too.

After the crowd dispersed, Arya stayed behind, wishing her friends well on their travels back under the bridge. She stayed and watched the Iron Bull, who would greet members of the rebellion with open arms and offer whatever comforting words he could in their times of trouble. Arya liked this man, and she had a feeling she knew why, but had to make sure. Once mostly everyone was gone, she approached him, hobbling like the old man she appeared to be.

"Greetings, my friend." The Iron Bull says to her, "Thank you for coming, I know it must be late for you. Allow me to help you sit down?" He gestured to a barrel beside the water.

"Let me see your face." The old man says in a voice much younger, and feminine.

The Iron Bull tilts his head and says, "I am sorry, I cannot do that. Anyone could be watching right now. The Hand has his little birds in every shadow, watching us. Please, I hope you understand."

"You've gotten taller." Arya smiles. "Still an idiot though."

"Do I…Do I know you?" The Iron Bull asks as the old man lifted his hand and peeled back his face, revealing a much younger, more familiar face underneath. His reaction is priceless. He staggers backward, his armor clunking as he gasps, "Arya!? What're you—?"

She lifts her finger over her lips, telling him to keep quiet. The Iron Bull looked around. Not many people were left. A few homeless women were chatting together by the water, their feet dangling over the edge. A small boy was playing with a ball down the road. A man with a bleeding leg was looking their way but his expression was vacant and unbothered. The Iron Bull beckoned for Arya to follow him, and he led her inside of a small inn called _The Hog's Wash_. She followed him all the way up to his room, and only once the two of them were alone, did Gendry remove his helmet.

As soon as she saw it was him, Arya lost control and flew into his arms. She nearly knocked him off his feet despite being twice her size. "I thought you were dead!" Arya whispered, sniffing back tears. Gendry laughed and embraced her tightly. "I thought you were too." He whispers back, "Thank the Gods."

As he pulled back and smiled down at her, he says, "You're going to have to explain why you were dressed up as an old man for me."

So she told him. That night Arya sat down and told Gendry everything about her travels with The Hound, her journey to Braavos, and her training with The Faceless Men. It felt so good just to have a friend she could talk to again. For the first time in a long time, Arya felt like Arya Stark, and not just a no one.

"First time we met I thought you were a little boy. Guess it's only fitting I'd find you again as an old man after all this time." Gendry jested and Arya laughed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "What's the matter?" he asks.

"I'm just so bloody happy you're not dead!" Arya screamed, hugging him again.

"Well it was a close call. A man named Davos saved me from the Red Woman. Put me on a boat before they could execute me. I sailed back to the only place I could call home. But this city is a mess, as you can see."

"Is that why you're lying to everyone? Telling them you're a knight and swearing to have killed a hundred Lannisters?" Arya asks.

Gendry's cheeks burned red as he answered with, "The people need a hero. There's no heroes left in this world anymore. They need someone to believe in. Someone who will bring back the peace and justice they deserve. I can be that hero, but not as Gendry. The Iron Bull _has_ killed a hundred Lannisters, and the Iron Bull _is_ a knight. He is, because the people _believe_ he is, you see?"

"Sounds like lying to me." Arya smirked.

"And what you're doing isn't?" He asks, frowning.

"Calm down, Gendry. I'm only messing with you." She says, punching him in the arm.

"I forgot how much of a scamp you were…" Gendry says, eyeing her up and down. "You've grown a lot, y'know."

"Now that's definitely a lie." Arya smiles, "You're the one that's grown. You're bloody huge!"

"I've been training hard." Gendry tells her, "Not every man in the city guard is a sadistic ass. Some were willing to give me some fighting lessons in return for some free armor upgrades."

"Doesn't make you a knight, though." Arya tells him, "Gendry… I think you should stop."

The look he gave her was overwhelming. She might as well have insulted his mother. "What do you mean? I thought you were on my side about this?"

"I am. But you're going to get killed. What do you think happens when you try and take on the Mountain or Cersei's Queensguard?"

"I don't know but I won't be alone! I have the support of hundreds! More than what you saw here tonight. Thousands maybe soon. I won't rest until we've accomplished it. I won't see anyone else suffer. There's enough of that going around."

Arya debated internally about telling Gendry about her own plans, yet she had a feeling she would look the hypocrite after just telling him he should abandon his. Instead, she said, "If you're not going to quit then let me help you."

"How can you help me?"

Arya grins and lifted up her cloak, taking out a small knapsack. She opens it up and reveals five faces. All of them were paper-thin and kept in-tact within a scroll. Arya lifts one out—the face a young boy, and holds it up in the air for him to see.

"They look so real." He says, poking it.

"They _were_ real, once."

Gendry immediately withdrew his finger, gaping at her. "You can't be serious… Put that thing away! I don't want to see those! Please don't tell me you cut those off yourself!"

"No, you idiot. I took them from the House of Black and White."

"Because that's not wrong either?"

Arya hits him again and he laughs. Already Arya can feel the depression in her heart slipping away in his presence. Gendry was the only family she had left anymore. Jon was still at The Wall as far as she knew. Sansa was probably dead by now. Bran and Rickon she had no inkling about. "Gendry, let me help you. The Mad Queen is responsible for the death of my father."

"How would you use these things anyway?" He asks.

"I'm not sure yet. I was hoping you could give me some ideas."

Gendry leaned back in his chair, the candle on the table flickering as he pondered. "Well, if you want to get in the Red Keep, Queen Cersei holds regular public trials in her court you can go see if you feel like subjecting yourself to torture and violence. She usually ends every day with a beheading of some sort. But only nobles or highborn are allowed in those halls. You've got other faces but you're still—"

"Small. Don't remind me." Arya growls.

Gendry chuckles at her, "There is a way, but I can't be sure. The Hand of the Queen has an army of spies under his command. He calls them his Little Birds. Nobody knows where they are—only that they are everywhere and you can't trust one isn't watching or listening to you at all times. People have slandered the Queen not knowing a Little Bird was listening and they've lost their lives because of it."

 _Little birds?_ Arya frowned, "Why call them Little Birds?"

"I believe the last Bower of Spies called them that, Lord Varys the Spider."

Arya remembered the Spider. She never trusted that man. Something about his oily skin and womanly voice just rubbed her wrongly. Perhaps it was because he was a eunuch, or… or… _Little Birds…_

"You don't think he can actually talk to birds do you?" Gendry asks her.

"Don't be stupid." She snaps, pacing the small room in a circle. "What happened to Lord Varys?"

"Rumors say he broke the Imp out of the dungeons and sailed away with him to Essos. No one has heard or seen him since. The current Hand of the Queen took over his line of work and adopted the Little Birds as his own, which tells me only one thing; that whoever they are, their loyalty can be bought."

"How does one become a Little Bird?" Arya asks him, deciding to take a seat across the table from him.

"I don't know. I think the Hand choses himself. You can't just sign up for it." Gendry rubs his bushy chin. "But with those masks you can be anyone you want and if they see you it doesn't matter because you can just toss that old face into the sea and put on a new one. You don't need to become one of them, you just need to follow one back to its nest and—"

"And kill the Mother Bird." Arya says, her heart skipping with anticipation.

* * *

Jaime

"So let me get this straight." Bronn says as Jaime dresses up in his Lannister armor, "You're asking me now for the third time to go with you on some _insane_ assignment for your _insane_ sister for some _insane_ reason again? Oh, and on top of that, you still haven't paid me for the last two missions."

"You know that's not true. You've been paid."

"Aye, but it wasn't the agreed upon amount. Nowhere near. You still owe me a lot more. I believe it was a castle of mine and a wife of my own, wasn't it?" Bronn rolled his eyes, slipping his dagger into its sheath. He'd just finished cleaning his nails with it. The two of them were in Jaime's chambers. Jaime had summoned the sellsword to him to ask for his partnership once more. He was to set out for Winterfell today, and Jaime had no intention of going alone with only one hand to defend himself with, and after the spectacle the other day he made of persuading Cersei not to send their army with him, he'd look the fool to ask for assistance now. Bronn was his only option.

"I expect you'll pay me triple then." Bronn says.

"Triple? You want three castles and three wives?" Jaime jested.

"For starters, yeah." Bronn nods, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just tell you to fuck off right now?"

"We're friends, aren't we?" Jaime says, "More than that, I need you. I can't fight alone out there, and if I end up taking on the King of the North without backup I'm afraid no girl will ever get another chance to ride this golden hand."

"Like any girl had a chance." Bronn scoffed, "Your hand is so far up your sister's ass you might as well be living in it."

"Does that mean you'll help me?"

Bronn considered him with narrowed eyes. "Aye, I'll come with you. Tyrion always paid me, y'know."

"I told you not to talk about my brother."

"Aye, you told me. But until you pay me I'm going to keep talking how I like."

"Fine. Bronn…" Jaime stopped short, almost awkwardly as Bronn raised an eyebrow at him. He raised his real hand up for him to shake and Bronn took it. "Thank you, my friend."

Before either could say another word the door to Jaime's room opened and one of Cersei's Queensguard stood at attendance. "You've been summoned by Her Grace, the Queen. I'm to escort you both to the Throne Room."

"Both?" Bronn crossed his arms, "What's this about?"

"She wants to see me off before we leave." Jaime muttered. He'd secretly wished they could take off before his sister could do something like this. As much as a part of him still loved her, there was a stronger part of him that wanted to escape for a while. "Let's go. It won't take long."

* * *

Cersei

_Jaime is leaving the capital today._

This was the first thing Cersei thought of as she awoke from her sleep, her chambers alight with the morning sun streaming through the golden windows. She stretched, yawned, and climbed over the pillows and sheets to get off her enormous bed and wander over to her privy. In the mirror she studied her face, taking a liking to the short hair she'd been given. She thought it made her look more like a man, and she decided she would keep it this way. Once she was dressed in her black gown with silver plated shoulders, Queen Cersei stepped out from her room and greeted the Mountain standing guard on the other side of her door with a curt nod of acknowledgment. He escorted her down into the throne room where the rest of her queensguard stood waiting, all enamored in golden armor. "Hail Queen Cersei!" Everyone in the court recited as she climbed the steps and took her place on the throne, her crown glistening in the firelight.

She listened with disinterest as the commoners approached. Qyburn handled them for the most part, allowing Cersei's mind to drift off. She thought about her brother and wondered if he would abandon her now. The possibility had occurred to her when she threatened him, but Cersei had always refused to believe Jaime was capable of betraying her. All her life he had stayed by her side. He was her's and would stay her's for the rest of time. It didn't matter what Jaime wanted because in the end he would always obey her and do anything she asked, like a puppet that couldn't break his strings. Cersei recognized her brother's desire to do what the filthy commoners would consider justice, but Cersei's brand of justice was supreme and nobody, not even the man she loved, would take that away from her.

When Jaime Lannister arrived with his sellsword Bronn, Cersei did not stand. She did not speak. She did not even blink. She only stared him down, daring him to say the first words. He glared back up at her in a way that infuriated her, yet gave her loins a stirring at the same time.

"You summoned us here before we could leave, your Grace?" Jaime asks impatiently, "Wish to see us off? Give us some words of wisdom?"

"Yes." Cersei says coldly, "Do not forget your family, Jaime. You are my brother and I am your sister, but I tell you this now so you never forget… No matter where you are in the world, remember that I am the only one you've ever loved and who will ever love you. We belong together, my brother. Now that I am Queen I can tell the entire Realm about it and nobody can slander us. I can make incest law if I wanted, and have anyone who insults it be put to death." She looks around at the rest of the room, most of the commoners and nobles have unsurprised expressions. "Nobody even cares. We worried about it for all those years, and for what?"

"Is this really appropriate discussion right now?" Jaime asks through gritted teeth, hating the feeling of everyone watching him, wanting to leave with Bronn as soon as possible.

"It is if I will it." Cersei says, smiling cruelly. "I want to remind you, Ser Jaime, of the love we have, because if there ever comes a day where you think of betraying me I want you to remember our love. More than that, I want you to remember how I respond to people who betray me." Her brother looked confused by these words. _Good_ , she thinks, giving a curt nod to Qyburn.

The Hand of the Queen clears his throat before saying, "Ser Bronn of the Blackwater!"

Jaime looks to his side where Bronn stands, sharing an equally confused expression. He strides forward as summoned, his hands folded over his lap. "Yes?"

"You have been charged with treason for your assistance in the death of King Joffrey Baratheon." Qyburn smiles.

"What the fuck are you on about?" Bronn's hands fall to his sides.

"What's the meaning of this?!" Jaime demands, stepping up beside Bronn.

"Everyone knows you were Tyrion's right hand man." Cersei says calmly, though her words dripped with contempt. "Until now I have left you unaccountable in your actions, but now my other brother seems to have grown fond of you. I am Queen I will see all who commit treason punished. You are to be held in the dungeons until we can get information on Tyrion's whereabouts out of you."

"Oh no, no, no. You're not holding me anywhere." Bronn grinned, pulling his sword out.

"You're punishing him because I stood up to you before?!" Jaime bellowed at her, "This is madness! You can't kill my men for my sins! Bronn, we're leaving!"

"Seize him!" Cersei commands and the Mountain, along with all six of the queensguard, surround the two of them. Jaime pulls out his sword next and stands back to back with Bronn.

"What are you doing? Get out of here!" Bronn yells at him as the first of the Queensguard rushes in, swinging his blade in a high arch above his head. Bronn kicks him in his knee before his swing can finish, dodging the wild attack and circling around behind him with his longsword angled to slice the guard's neck open in one fluid motion, spilling blood across the rich, stone floor. Every on-looker in the crowd screams with fright and enjoyment. Jaime couldn't believe what was happening. Cersei, on the other hand, was watching it all from her throne and laughing.

"Bronn! Let's go!" Jaime yells, blocking an attack to his left and dodging another on his right, though just barely. Bronn was close by, taking on three at once.

"You go!" Bronn roared back, "They want me, not you! Don't go dying for me, you cunt!"

 _He fights without honor, dodging around like he's untouchable,_ Cersei observed, originally expecting this man to go down without much effort. But when Bronn of the Blackwater cut off the head of another Queensguard, Cersei shouted for the Mountain, who was being blocked by Jaime, to end it. For one second Cersei was sure the Mountain would cut Jaime in two as he swung his giant sword around—but Jaime was quick and dodged it successfully, only to get tackled by another of the guards, his sword falling to the floor. He reached for it… but alas, it was his golden hand and not his real one that touched the sword's handle. The Mountain walked around him, making way for Bronn, who had his back turned fighting off two others.

At the last second, Bronn heard The Mountain grunt as he brought his greatsword down. Bronn danced left and felt warm blood splash his face as the huge, beast of a sword cut cleanly through the man he was fighting, his golden armor breaking as though made of butter, both sides of his head peeling in opposite directions. Bronn was stunned and tried to back away—but the Mountain's arm plunged forward, his fingers fastening around his throat. Bronn gasped as all the air was pushed from his lungs, being lifted off his feet and thrown onto the floor with enough force to break a rib or two, his sword spinning wildly out of reach.

Jaime kicked at the guard who had tackled him, freeing himself enough to take his own sword in hand—but the other two Queensguard decided to surround him. He was dragged back down by three men in heavy armor, forced to his knees while his hands were pinned behind his back. "Sit still, Kingslayer!" Hissed one of the men in his ear.

"Unhand me! I am the Queen's brother!" Jaime growled, elbowing one of them in their helm and hearing a satisfying crunch. But it was not enough to remove them. Meanwhile Bronn was back on his feet, his small, curved dagger now his only weapon. "Bronn! You can't beat him!" Jaime shouts, "Run! Get out of King's Landing! Just go!"

But Bronn did not stand down. "I'm getting old. Old men get tired. You don't need to tell me I won't win. I'm not going down without a fucking fight, so don't tell me that. Nor am I going to live the rest of my days being hunted like a dog!"

The Mountain charged again, this time swinging his greatsword at his side. Bronn jumped backward, feeling the blade tear at the leather clothing around his belly. All the while Cersei just kept on laughing.

"Come on, Pig-Fucker." Bronn cursed, daring the Mountain to get closer.

The Mountain obliged, thrusting the greatsword two-handedly at his chest. Bronn dodged, only instead of leaping back he leapt forward up onto the Mountain himself, sinking his dagger between the folds of armor that protected his neck. Bronn roars with triumph, ripping his blade out and landing behind his enemy on both feet while the Mountain falls to one knee, clutching his now bleeding neck with one hand. Bronn backed away from him, noticing black blood oozing off from his dagger's edge. Jaime couldn't believe it. Neither could Cersei. Her laughing stopped.

"Stand, Clegane!" Cersei commands. "Stand and fight for your Queen! I've changed my mind, bring me his head!"

"Have no fear, my Queen." Qyburn tells her.

The Mountain lowered his hand and stood back up again, breathing heavily under his helmet. His red eyes fixated themselves on Bronn, raising the greatsword up once more.

"Fuck me." Bronn sighs with a disheartened expression, "You can't be killed, can ya?"

The Mountain advanced on him wordlessly… and Bronn's dagger clattered to the floor. Jaime's jaw dropped with it. "Bronn, what are you doing?!"

"Before I die, I want to say one thing." Bronn says, he turns and looks up at the Queen. She raises her hand and the Mountain stops a foot away from him. Bronn clears his throat, wiping his hair back with his hand, and chuckling under his breath. "Tyrion Lannister taught me that a Lannister always pays their debts. All you Lannisters can't help yourselves with that saying, can you? He also told me about how perfectly awful you were to him, and after you put him away in a dungeon and had him trialed for a murder he didn't commit, he escaped. Well a Lannister always pays their debts. One day, Tyrion Lannister is going to come back to pay the debt he owes you, and my only regret is not being there to see him do it."

The Mountain's sword cut clean through Bronn's neck as soon as the last word escaped his lips. First his head tumbled to the floor, then his body followed. Jaime screamed while the Mountain lifted up the sellsword's head for the room to witness. Cersei was pleased, already forgetting every word the man had uttered.

The three remaining Queensguard and the Mountain released Jaime then, and as he stood he thought he felt his soul stay behind on the floor where he'd been stuck, forced to watch his one and only friend in the city butchered… for no good reason.

"Never mind what Father would think of you, The Mad King would be proud to see you now!" Jaime roars, glaring through tear-stricken eyes up at his sister. "Bronn was a good man! He didn't deserve that!"

"A good fighter, maybe. I admit, I did not think he would take down three of my greatest warriors. I'll need to find more now." Cersei's smile is piercing and drives him mad. She can see it in his eyes. He hates her, but more than that he's _afraid_ of her. "Now do you understand what loyalty means, Ser Jaime? Never again disobey, ignore, or argue an order from me. You are mine, brother. Now leave, and come back with either the head of Jon Snow or a letter of the North's fealty… or do not come back unless you wish to meet the same fate as your friend... Qyburn, see that his head is mounted on the wall with the rest. I want this corpse out of the room before it starts to smell."

* * *

The Hound

A cold, white storm was blowing down harsh against Sandor Clegane's face, blinding his sights ahead. The road was covered and his horse had probably led them astray. "This storm's never going to end!" He yelled back to Pod, who is curled up and shivering behind him, his face so pale he looked half dead. "Pod! Pod!"

"B-B-B-B-Br-Br—" The squire stuttered, his eyes half-closed. _Gods damn it,_ The Hound thought, ripping off his traveling cloak and wrapping it around the boy's shivering frame.

"You better not fucking die before we get there! I'm not freezing my ass off for no damn reason!" The Hound hollers before kicking his horse to get a move on. The horse looked back at him begrudgingly and came to a stop. "Get moving!" Sandor commanded, kicking again. Suddenly the horse gave in under their weight and collapsed, sending both the Hound and Pod crashing down into the snow. Sandor grunted in pain, one of his legs pinned by the horse's body. It was still breathing, though he could tell the beast had given up on life. The winds of winter were too much for it.

The Hound pulled Pod up from the snow and slung him over his shoulders. _At least now the damn cloak can keep me warm as well. Sorry horse._ Before he trudged onward through the blistering cold, The Hound decided to show mercy on the horse for getting them this far, and broke its neck with his foot. With pod weighing him down, Sandor Clegane marched onward through the storm. _Winterfell is not far. Just wait for me, Little Bird. I'm almost there._

* * *

Sansa

"You're lying…"

"I'm not lying… Sansa…"

"Don't!" Sansa turned away from him. Her hands were shaking. Just before Jon arrived in her tower, Sansa had just gotten done thinking to herself how she must be out of tears by now, surely… yet here they came, blinding her against her will. _Stop it, tears! Stop crying like a little girl! You're pathetic! You're weak! You're stupid!_

"Sansa, try to understand why I have to do this, please." Jon begs her, "The knights of the vale are 40,000 strong! Without them I have less than 8,000 between the rest of my Bannermen and the Free Folk! And even with all of us put together that's still not enough for what comes beyond The Wall!"

Sansa glares coldly at him. "All this talk about horrors beyond The Wall, you expect me to just stand here and believe that?"

Jon's face fell, astonished. "You don't believe me? You don't believe the hundreds of thousands of men who died fighting the White Walkers? Do you think Bran is lying as well?" Sansa looked away again, shaking her head. "Sansa, I know you have trouble trusting me. After everything the Lannisters and Boltons put you through I don't blame you. But we're _family_ , Sansa."

"You promised to protect me." Sansa responds, refusing to look at him at all now. It was easier to stay angry with him if she didn't have to see his eyes. "You promised me."

"I am protecting you, Sansa. That's what you don't realize. This is the only way to protect you, Bran, and everyone in Westeros." Jon's voice sounds somber and regretful, but Sansa didn't care. Nothing he could say would convince her this wasn't a mistake. "I'm sorry, I truly am. I wish this choice wasn't mine to make, but it is. I made Littlefinger swear to certain conditions that must be met and if broken—"

"What then? If he decides to take me or rape me like Ramsay, would you stop him or let him have me so that you can have your army to fight off grumpkins and snarks!?"

"I won't let that happen, Sansa! I swear to you, on my honor, if Littlefinger hurts you in any way I will defend you and execute him immediately. You have my word." Sansa wished she could trust his word. He reached out to take her hand and for a second she considered pulling away… but she allowed him to, still refusing to look him in the eye. "I love you, sweet sister. I hope you can forgive me someday…"

As he left, Sansa closed her eyes and waited for the sound of the lock to click. She thought tears would come bursting then, now that she was alone… Instead she stifled them, wiping her eyes and glaring at her own reflection in the mirror on her desk. She watched herself regain her composure as the reality of what Jon told her sunk in at last… _If the world knew the truth, Jon wouldn't be able to marry me to Littlefinger at all… He's half Targaryen, and he's a bastard. The other lords would remove him and strip him of all titles. They might even take his head and proclaim him a liar and traitor, like Jon fears. Then who would be the true ruler of Winterfell? Would it go to Bran? Or me?_

Sansa knew she was entertaining a fairytale… She couldn't do something like that… She couldn't betray Jon…

_Even though he's willing to betray me?_

* * *

Arya

DOWN WITH THE MAD QUEEN! Was written in blood on the side of a market stall one morning as the guards made their way through Flea Bottom. At first they only spotted one, but then as they continued their rounds, more and more began to crop up. It was written all over on the sides of walls, signposts, stairways, bridges, and even the roads themselves. The blood was dry, yet it took the guards a while to figure out that whoever these criminals were had written the messages overnight while the city slept. More and more through every district in King's Landing, the Rebellion's message spread. At the end of the day the Lord Commander of the city guard realized that several Lannister guardsmen were missing. The Queen was notified at last, and a man-hunt for the guards quickly took hold. The sun was falling by the time they found them. All three of their bodies were hung up by chains in the rubble of the Sept. Underneath them, the head of Baelor's statue had the same message written in blood across his forehead, only this one was different from others. It read: THE IRON BULL WILL GIVE YOU THE MAD QUEEN'S HEAD. The three guardsmen, Rynold, Harwick, and Thod, had large holes carved out in their stomachs so that you could see straight through them. Their entrails draped down, caressing Baelor's cheeks. Their faces bore the expression of wild terror… From a distance, Arya admired her work. She was high above the city in one of the bell towers that warned of invading ships. From here she could see it all. From here no one could catch her. Arya did what she was trained to do across the sea. She hunkered down, kept her eyes open, and waited for the sun to fall.

Once darkness covered King's Landing, Arya climbed down from her hiding spot, remembering how Bran had always been the better climber than her—but she'd been the better fighter. Those three idiots hadn't been much of a challenge. Harwick she got while he was raping. Thod she stabbed while he was pissing through someone's window. Rynold had actually seen her coming before she could get to him, but in the presence of a young boy no guard would think to draw their sword in time. Arya pierced him through the chin. After that it was only a matter of getting Gendry to help her string the bodies up and take their blood around the city in buckets. Arya must've written DOWN WITH THE MAD QUEEN three hundred times last night. Tonight was the second part of the plan.

She waited in the alley near the rubble of the Sept, watching as guards came and went holding torches. None ever caught her. When Gendry showed up, dressed in his armor and bull helm, Arya watched as he took out a bucket of blood and began to write a new message underneath the old one on Baelor's face. Arya kept her eyes out, knowing that if Cersei was smart, she would have her Little Birds watching this spot all night. She looked around, able to see clearer in the darkness than she used to. Every shadow had details hidden in them one without her experience wouldn't see, and as Arya's eyes searched her surroundings they came upon a young child's head peeking around the edge of a house. It was gone almost as quickly as she spotted it, and Arya knew she had to be quick—so she bolted, running head on for the kid and shouting, "IRON BULL!" to warn Gendry the plan was a success and to flee right away.

"Almost done!" Gendry calls back, in the middle of his blood work. Arya rolled her eyes and skid around the corner where she'd seen the child. At first the street ahead was pitch black… then all the shadows seemed to lift and thirty yards ahead she saw movement.

Arya ran as fast as she could after the boy, thinking of how obvious it was in hindsight that the Little Birds would just be children. She made sure to keep her distance so that he did not notice her. Whenever he turned a corner Arya's heart leapt and she thought it would be the last time she saw the boy and her chance would be ruined… But then she'd see him again, sprinting through the shadows a street ahead, and Arya's confidence restored itself.

Finally, when they arrived at the Red Keep, Arya watched as the little boy ran around the back of the castle near the cliff's edge and disappeared inside a small hole in the ground beside the high, crimson walls. _So this is how they get in and out unnoticed._ It was a sewage grate, which meant the little boy was going through the tunnels underneath to get inside. By the time Arya reached the grate and peered down, the child was gone. I have to go in, she decided, lifting the grate and just barely managing to squeeze through. She slid down a few feet before landing in thick, muddy water that rank of manure. Up ahead the sound of the boy's pounding footsteps echoed off the brick walls. Arya followed, her eyes adjusting again to her surroundings, and in order to find her way out again, she picked up pieces of dung and spread it across every wall she walked past. The tunnel would break off and split into new paths, some that led deeper into the earth while others seemed to go nowhere. Arya listened carefully whenever she came to a fork in her path. The boy was no longer running. She slowed down so her own steps wouldn't reach his ears. After ten minutes of this, Arya finally caught up with him and watched the Little Bird leave through a door and ascend a spiraling staircase of stone. She crept up on her hands and knees, like a cat on the prowl. At the top, Arya peeked into a room illuminated with torchlight.

A single old man stood in the center, bending low to speak with the child. "Are you sure? A bull's helmet?"

"Yes, m'lord." Whispered the boy.

"And he was writing more on the statue… _Interesting_. It seems this rebellion grows braver by the day. Good work as always, my friend. Here." He handed the child something round and Arya watched as the little boy bit into it lustfully, juice spilling down his lips. _He rewards them with food_ , Arya realizes, glaring at the Hand of the Queen with one hand wrapped around Needle. He turned and walked with the child up another flight steps and disappear through a door that locked behind them.

Arya traced her steps back through the tunnels, following the marks she made on the walls to guide her. Once she was in fresh air again, Arya removed her mask, bent over, and threw up into the ocean. Wiping her mouth off, she turned her eyes upon the giant red castle beside her. _Soon_ , she thinks to herself. _Soon…_

* * *

Theon

Watching the three dragons fly overhead put Theon in awe at their majesty. Never in his life did he think he would bear witness to such divine beasts. As a child he'd read about dragons but always thought the Kraken was a more fearsome myth. Standing here now, Theon knew he'd been wrong. Seeing a dragon was like seeing God, and there were three of them… The green one circled overhead, higher than the others, while the beige one dove down below the water's surface and came up with a jaw full of fish. Then there was the black one, Drogon. It wove between every ship, roaring ferociously, as if daring them to attack it. Drogon was the largest and most fearsome, and Theon would give anything for a chance just to touch his dark scales like the Imp had.

"They're amazing, aren't they?" A feminine voice said behind him. Theon turned and saw Varys approaching him. The fat, bald man was also admiring the dragons. He wore a golden, silk robe that hid most of his body. Even the hands under his sleeves were tucked away under the folds of his clothing. Theon had heard stories of the Spider from King's Landing, but had never met the man himself.

Theon nods, "Aye."

"Greetings, Theon Greyjoy?"

"You're Varys."

"Glad we've both heard of each other." Varys smiles, "As a Greyjoy, how does our fleet compare to the ones you've seen on the Iron Islands?"

Theon laughs, "I've never seen a fleet come anywhere near the size of this one. We have over a thousand ships, I'd say it's the largest fleet the world has ever seen! My uncles would shit their knickers if they saw us approaching."

Varys chuckles as well, and Theon finds that he doesn't mind this strange man's company for some reason. "It's true. Not even Aegon the Conqueror had this many ships. I pray our forces make it to Westeros without any casualties. We've managed to avoid the storms, but I fear the closer we get the colder the winds are and the chances of running into obstacles grows."

Theon knew the Spider was right. In winter, ice bergs would form in the ocean and once the Narrow Sea had nearly frozen over completely making ship-travel impossible. Yet for now the waters were blue as crystal and the skies were clear. "I have faith we'll make it." Was all Theon said.

"Your faith is reassuring." Varys says, joining him at his side by the railing. "Is your faith in our Queen just as strong?"

"I will live and die for Daenerys Targaryen and it would be an honor." Theon says, unabashed. Varys looks impressed with him. "What about you?" Theon asks.

"I served a Targaryen long ago. You were just a boy then, so you wouldn't remember the terror the Mad King spread across his country. But I remember. When he died I lost faith in Targaryens, and served King Robert. Then he died… and the Lannisters took over. The Mad Queen Cersei is just as dangerous as the Mad King was, if not more so. When I saw the kingdom falling around me I fled, and found Daenerys Stormborn had seized control in the east. She gave me hope just as she gives you hope."

Theon smiled, looking out at the horizon to the east. Something caught his eye that made his smile fall away. Sails were appearing, sails bearing the sigil of the Kraken. Theon's heart skipped a beat. Yara was right. One of their uncles was chasing them, and judging from the giant war galley that led the fleet, he could guess which one it was. Theon opened his mouth and roared at his ironborn men on board to prepare for battle while Varys immediately withdrew himself to warn the Queen.

* * *

Tyrion

When Tyrion was informed of the approaching army of ships at their rear, he threw down his cup of wine and followed Greyworm out onto the deck. He stumbled as he walked, and Greyworm assumed it was because of the rocking of the ship. Tyrion was half-drunk, though he knew better than to let Greyworm or anyone else know this little fact right now.

"Where is Daenerys?" Tyrion asks the Commander of the Unsullied, leaning over the railing of the Red Wind and spying the giant ship known as the Iron Victory approaching ahead of the rest of its fleet. The squid-like tentacles that surrounded the ship's bow was frightening indeed, though Tyrion couldn't help but admire the artistry of it.

Greyworm point up into the sky.

Drogon was flying down toward the Red Wind at a breakneck speed. Riding atop his back was his silver haired Queen, a look of fury on her face. Tyrion and Greyworm backed away as the massive dragon landed aboard Dany's ship and roared into the sky. The Dragon was angry, Tyrion didn't need to read their minds to see that. Drogon was watching the Iron Victory's approach and hissing threats at it.

"It would appear he wishes to talk." Dany says, "He's coming alone, leaving the rest of his fleet behind. It will be his undoing."

"How many ships did you see from up there?" Tyrion asks.

"About a hundred." Dany says, smiling confidently. Tyrion was weary of that look. He'd seen it in his sister all too often.

"Just because we outnumber them ten to one doesn't mean we should start a war at sea just yet, Daenerys. I advise caution. Listen to what he wants and weigh the risk for the reward." Tyrion tells her.

"That's why I have you." The Queen says, looking away from the enemy and down at her Hand. "You're coming with me."

Tyrion released a nervous laugh. But Dany's expression was stone serious and Tyrion knew this was no jest. "I'm not sure if I'm ready, your Grace."

"You are ready, remember?" Dany smiles and Drogon roars again impatiently. "Climb the wing, he won't knock you off, will you Drogon?"

"I do not share your confidence…" Tyrion hesitates, feeling all eyes on the ship watching him now. _This was it._ The moment he'd been dreading ever since Dany told him he would ride with her had come early and he was drunk for it. Tyrion looked up at Greyworm and gave him a grim smile, saying, "Well my friend, it was good to know you. Take care of that girl, Missandei. Alright?"

Greyworm blinks and for a second Tyrion thinks he sees a trace of sadness in his eyes as the Lord Commander of the Unsullied nods and says, "I know we did not always agree on politics, but you are a good man, Lannister."

"Let us hope I stay a _living_ good man." Tyrion smiles as he reaches out and touches Drogon's leather wings. At first the dragon reproaches, turning its attention on the dwarf attempting to climb him. Tyrion's heart leapt with fear as the inside of Drogon's throat began to burn bright… but then Daenerys strokes the side of his neck, whispering a soothing word in Valyrian… Drogon closed his jaws, a low growl rumbling deep within his chest. Tyrion gulped and continued, praying his hands were not gripping onto the wingspan too tightly. It was awkward at first. Tyrion was small but he felt like the dragon's patience with him would run out if he didn't climb up faster. Dany reached down then, as he balanced on his hands and knees along Drogon's wingspan. Tyrion took her hand and climbed the rest of the way up onto his scaly back. Every step felt like it would be his last as he settled in behind his Queen, feeling like a child again, his eyes wide as saucers.

"Grab my waist." Dany tells him over her shoulder. He does so, his legs barely managing to straddle the dragon's back _. I'm really doing this_ , he thought with wild amazement. _This is a mistake. I'm going to fall. I'm going to die like a fool and everyone will remember the day the dwarf fell off a dragon…_ His fingers tightened into the folds of Dany's gown, and just as he was reconsidering asking permission to get down—Tyrion was lurched forward into her back as Drogon took flight.

His screams were blasted away in a gust of wind.

Tyrion's buried his face in Dany's spine, refusing to open his eyes.

He heard Dany's laughter as his heart hammered in his ears.

Tyrion opened one eye and stared at a cloud rocketing by him.

For the first time in his life, Tyrion soared over the heads of everyone below him, higher than any dwarf had ever been. Drogon steadied himself in mid-flight and Tyrion found he no longer needed to grip onto Dany so tightly. He leaned away from her and steeled himself to look down over Drogon's side.

From up here, their fleet stretched for miles in all directions, yet they seemed the size of toys to him. From up here, the ocean was all that existed, no lands in sight, only water. Daenerys looks back at him and Tyrion explodes with laughter. Up here the threat of the ironborn fleet approaching seemed a trivial thing. Up here taking the Iron Throne felt like a dream in the past. Up here, Tyrion was finally at home.

That was until Drogon decided to swoop downward forcing Tyrion to cling onto his queen with a shrill scream. His heart and his testicles jumped inside him as they plummeted, the water rushing up to meet them. He felt his bottom lift off Drogon's back, and he knew if he let go he would die. Yet within seconds it was over. Drogon spread his wings and they came to an abrupt halt over the water's edge, landing aboard the Iron Victory's bow.

* * *

Daenerys

Standing aboard the deck was a group of men, twenty or so in all, most of them mutated in one way or another. One had bulging bug-like eyes and a long, braided beard, his hands were encased in steel orbs. Two more were twins, both with one arm that was shriveled and deformed and the other hulking and brutish. Then there was a fat man who wore only pants and an unbuttoned tunic. His whole body was covered in scars and he seemed to be the only one in the bunch unimpressed by the sight of a dragon aboard their ship.

Dany and Tyrion remained mounted aboard Drogon's back, glaring down at them all while her dragon growled. She saw the captain step out from his cabin and stroll toward them. A large man with dark hair and a lush beard, enamored in metal like a knight, raised his arms and said in a gravely, booming voice, "Mother of Dragons! Welcome aboard! I was hoping you'd come to us!"

"Victarion Greyjoy, I presume?" Dany asks as Drogon shifts his weight underneath her to gain a better footing. The Iron Victory was a massive ship, larger than even her Red Wind. The weight of a dragon hardly sank it at all.

"You presume correctly, your Grace!" Victarion bows before her in an overdramatic mocking way and the rest of his men guffaw with laughter. "I'm honored you've heard of me."

"I haven't heard much about you, actually." Says Tyrion from behind his Queen, peeking his head around her arm to make himself known. "Only that your cock isn't as big as your brothers so you try and compensate that with your ships."

One man below bellowed with laughter. Everyone turned, even Victarion, with surprise, and saw Strong Belwas striking his own belly and laughing joyfully. Victarion scoffs and addresses Dany, "Whoever that monkey is on your shoulder should consider himself proud. First time I've ever heard the fat man laugh."

"You speak of the Hand of the Queen, Greyjoy. Watch your words." Dany warns him.

"Never been very good at watching words. Prefer to watch people die." Victarion narrows his eyes with a contemptuous grin. One of his hands was around the hilt of his sword and the other held a helm beneath his armpit that had squid-like tentacles designed around it, similar to the Iron Victory's hull.

"I assume that is why you've come here then, to watch your men burn?" Dany states.

"I have no intention of watching any man burn today, Dragon Queen." Victarion says and he beckons to one of his men. The bug-eyed one with the metal hands snickers and goes below deck. "Why don't you dismount that magnificent beast of yours and join me in my cabin? Make yourselves comfortable! You can even bring your monkey with you! Hahaha!"

Drogon leaned in then, his head mere feet away from the captain, opened his mighty jaws, and roared in his face. Victarion stood his ground, unafraid, and let the slime and spit wash over him. Dany felt a stirring of unease. No man had ever faced down her dragon with such bravery before.

"I think he likes me." Victarion said when Drogon was finished.

"I do not believe we will be joining you anywhere, Greyjoy." Tyrion says, "We are quite comfortable up here and you down there."

"Do you let your monkey do the talking for you?" Victarion asks Dany.

"I warned you once. I will not again." Dany tells him angrily, "Tell me what you want or I will burn you and your fleet before I leave!"

Just then the mutant returned from below deck, and with him he brought two people. One was a woman dressed in red, and when he sees her Tyrion gasps. The other was in chains, a black sack around his head. He was naked except for his leggings… and his left arm was blackened as though it had been burned in a terrible fire. Victarion grabbed the man by the back of his head and yanked him to his side. The man has his hands tied behind his back and his feet chained together, so he nearly falls. Dany realized who it was before Victarion removed the sack, and fear suddenly took root inside of her. _No, please don't be…_

Jorah Mormont looked guilty, as though he had somehow caused this catastrophe.

"Shit." Tyrion muttered behind her, and Dany's feelings reflected the statement. This was perhaps the one man in the world Dany didn't want to see under that sack.

"Daenerys Targaryen!" Victarion shouts, "I propose a marriage between us! Join me in matrimony and we can rule the seven kingdoms together! Be my wife, and I will lead the charge into Blackwater Bay myself and sack the city! Marry me and I will kill my brother Euron for you, and give the Iron Islands to our children! I have a hundred ships and over 4000 hardened men from across the world!" At the end of his speech, Victarion removed a dagger and held it against Jorah's throat. "Or you can burn us down and I kill your man. I wonder if he'd die from the fire or the blood loss first."

Daenerys didn't know what to do. Anger and rage bubbled inside her. She wanted nothing more than to say " _Dracarys_ " and be done with this… But Jorah… He had been there for her since the beginning.

"Come down and join us! Please! No one will harm you with your dragon watching." Victarion sneered. "We can perform the wedding right here if you'd like! Out on the open sea! What a beautiful thing, eh boys?!" The rest of his men all cackled with laughter.

"Dany," Tyrion whispers behind her while they laugh, "I know he is important to you, but…"

"I can't." She says, fighting back tears, "I just can't."

"You have to. There is no way you can marry this man and expect to be taken seriously as Queen. He is a pirate, a scoundrel, and a criminal, but above all else he came here and tried to force you to marry him. If you agree, you will never be taken seriously again, even with dragons the best you could hope for would be ruling through fear, and then you're no better than Cersei. A man like this would be a disaster for us."

 _Khaleesi…_ Jorah's voice whispered in her memories.

Drogon stirred restlessly underneath her, swaying his head back and forth like a serpent, watching the men beneath him like a hawk, and growling menacingly like a wolf. His impatience goaded her to make a decision quickly… Yet she couldn't find the words. How could she do it? Jorah, who was so faithful and loved her more than any other…

"May I point out the giant dragon in the room and just say you are putting your hands on a man with Greyscale." Tyrion tells Victarion and she is thankful for him giving her time.

"I have cured his arm of all infection." Speaks the woman in red, stepping forward and joining Victarion at his side. She was looking up at Daenerys as though they were long-lost lovers. "He no longer poses a threat to us."

 _He's been cured?_ She eyes his arm and notices the deep cracks from before were still there, only now they pulsed red. "I-I don't understand." She says, her voice cracking like a child's. _He doesn't look cured at all…_

"I said the same thing." Victarion chuckles, "The Red Witch's magic is something to behold though! Go on, tell her, Kinvara. Tell her how you healed his arm. Hahahaha!" More laughter from the crowd made Drogon's growl deepen with annoyance.

"I would rather know why you stand before your Queen, High Priestess Kinvara, without shame for your clear betrayal." Tyrion says, frowning. "Last time I recall, we paid you to help us."

"I am helping you, Lord Lannister." Kinvara responds with a relaxed expression.

"Lannister?!" Victarion exclaims, "Gods be damned, you're the Mad Queen's Imp?!"

Drogon bellowed loudly in their faces again, and Tyrion smiled, liking to believe the dragon was standing up for him. "Forgive me, my lady but I fail to see how you are helping by handing us this Neanderthal."

"Big words for such a little monkey." Mocks Victarion loudly, entertaining the rest of his crew. "Dragon Queen, I grow bored hearing your pet speak. Will you accept my proposal or is today the day your lover dies?!"

"I was never her lover." Jorah mutters, spiting onto the deck a mixture of saliva and blood. He appeared more tired than Dany had ever seen him before, as though his very soul had been sucked from his body. She wanted to reach out and take him—fly away and watch the Greyjoys _burn!_

Victarion didn't seem to care if Jorah was her lover or not. His blade dug deeper into his deck, drawing a small trail of blood. "I'll make sure to let you know what it's like!" Victarion growls in his ear, grinning up at the Mother of Dragons. "I'll share every detail with you and my brother, hell, maybe even the entire world. Look at how beautiful she is, after-all. I'll be the envy of every man in the seven kingdoms."

Daenerys closed her eyes, knowing her decision, and when she opened them again all the fragility and insecurity in her voice from before was gone, replaced with the cold demeanor she shows all who stand in her way. "Victarion, you've made the last mistake of your life."

"Have I?" Victarion's confidence waned in his tone, "Then I suppose I should just kill him then."

"Your body will burn by the time you finish drawing that blade across his throat, so unless you wish to prolong your life I suggest you wait." Dany's confidence grew with every word, though in her heart she hated herself. "Jorah Mormont, you have served me faithfully and I will honor your memory for the rest of my days… Your death today will be a sacrifice that every man, woman, and child in Westeros will hear of. Thank you… for everything, Jorah..."

To her shock, Jorah only smiled peacefully up at her and said, "I couldn't ask for more, Daenerys."

Victarion's hand trembled around the knife at his throat. "You wouldn't dare attack us with your man in the way!" He spits but the terror on his face grew as Drogon lurched his head back, a red glow building inside its maw. His men all backed away, their laughter turning to ash in their mouths. Victarion turned his hideous glare at Kinvara, "Red Woman! You said he was the key!"

Kinvara only smiled serenely at him.

_I'm sorry, my old friend… my love…_

" _Dracarys_!" Daenerys cries.

As Drogon releases a torrent of flames down upon them, something else happens at the same that Dany only witnesses a flash of before the flames surrounded both Victarion and Jorah. It looked as though for a moment Jorah's left arm had exploded with wild, red fire and engulfed the two men, but Dany quickly dismissed it—it was only Drogon's fire. It _had_ to have been. Victarion Greyjoy screamed as flames burned his body, melting his armor to his skin. He stumbled out of Drogon's breath howling with agony, charging for High Priestess Kinvara who waited until he was almost within reach… before she stepped aside and Victarion Greyjoy plummeted straight over the edge of his ship and into the ocean, his scream silenced by the water's endless depths.

The stream of fire ceased. The mutant men had all fled from the prow of the Iron Victory in terror, all except for the one named Strong Belwas. Dany watched as the flames settled, waiting for Jorah's burned corpse to appear…

When Jorah Mormont stood where he was, naked amidst the flames, Dany's heart stopped. He was untouched by the fire, his muscles shining and rippling, standing between the roaring, red flames that was spreading across the boat in every direction. _Impossible_ , thought Dany, _How?_ Jorah looked equally surprised. His arms were no longer chained together, nor were his legs. The metal had been burned away… and Jorah's left arm had steam rising off from it, a gentle flame glimmering in the palm of his hand…

Jorah and Dany met each other's gaze… and after a moment, they both smiled and nodded. Jorah turned around, raised his arm up and aimed his hand at the man known as Ratfly, who was trying to run below deck. " _Dracarys!_ " Jorah roared and a stream of flames exploded like dragon-fire from his hand, following Ratfly all the way inside the Iron Victory's center and releasing an explosion that traveled through its entire structure. The rest of the crew was screaming in terror, yelling to abandon the ship as Jorah aimed his hand again for the two disfigured twins who had decided to charge him down together. _"Dracarys!"_ Jorah bellowed and his arm ignited once again, firing off a river of dancing fire. Both the twins screamed as they ran head first into the scorching flames, colliding with each other and before collapsing in heaps on the wood.

Daenerys couldn't believe it. What magic was this? She thought to ask Tyrion, yet she could not remove her eyes from Jorah as he walked over to Strong Belwas. The large, scarred man had an unafraid grin on his face. Jorah asks, "Do you wish to burn with the rest of these men or would you like to join my Queen and her Dragons on her conquest instead?"

As the fire surrounded them and overtook the sails of the ship, Strong Belwas only jiggled with laughter. Jorah scowled, "What's wrong with you, man?"

"He can't speak." Kinvara says, approaching them. "He is a mute. But he likes our Queen a lot, and her dragons, but most of all he likes the talking monkey on her back."

"I can hear you!" Tyrion yells at them.

Daenerys dismounted with Tyrion and approached Jorah aboard the Iron Victory's burning deck. The fire in his hand swelled as she drew near. All were silent, watching them stand face to face…

"My Queen." Jorah whispers. He bows his head and crosses his blackened arm across his chest. When he looks back up, Dany takes his face in her hands and kisses him.

Drogon flew Dany and Tyrion away as Jorah, Kinvara, and Strong Belwas boarded a life-boat unharmed by the fire and sailed for the Red Wind. Dany watched as the Iron Victory sank beneath the waters, a column of smoking rising from its debris as what's left of its crew swam for the rest of Victarion's fleet. They were charging toward her fleet at full speed now, war drums beating as the pirates yelled for vengeance.

 _Let them come,_ Dany thought, _I will burn them all!_


	4. The Long Night

** Episode Four **

** The Long Night **

* * *

Bran

"Lord Brandon Stark, it is an immense relief to see you alive and well." Announces Lord Glover, standing in the center of the hall while his men all cheered. "I've pledged myself to your brother, and I wish to pledge myself to you! On my honor as a Glover and your father's friend, you have my allegiance from this day until my last day!"

"Thank you, Lord Glover." said Bran and the last of Jon's Bannermen to pledge themselves to him sat down at the war table. Lords Manderly and Cerwyn had done the same, as did Lady Mormont. When the Little Bear spoke she did so with loud confidence that intimidated Bran a little; though when she smiled and winked at the end of her pledge to him, Bran flushed and noticed Meera glower at the young girl.

Jon asks, "How many men have you all been able to send to The Wall?"

"We managed to round up twenty men, most of them deserters, Your Grace." Answers Lord Manderly.

"We had fifty we could spare." Says Lord Glover.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I could only find five." Says Lord Cerwyn apologetically, "Not many criminals left that weren't flayed alive by the Boltons."

"Better than what we got," says Lady Mormont, "There was one good man on Bear Island who volunteered."

 _So less than a hundred,_ Jon calculates. "Lord Baelish, what about the Vale?"

"At your request, Your Grace, Lord Arryn sent 5,000 knights to defend The Wall." Lord Baelish declares with an immodest smile. The other lords, including Jon, Sansa, Bran, and Meera all looked shocked at first. Some glared at Littlefinger with disbelief written all over their faces like Lady Mormont and Sansa while others appeared impressed. Jon was in the latter.

"The North thanks you, Lord Baelish." Jon says, "I am in Lord Arryn's debt once again, it seems."

"This one comes on behalf of the King's request, Your Grace. Lord Arryn would not have approved if I had not counseled him on the importance of defending the North." When Jon had told Bran not to trust Littlefinger, Bran didn't quite understand. Even now, he didn't get it. Lord Baelish had been nothing but helpful so far, and hearing that so many knights were heading north was a giant relief in his heart. "There is a… issue, Your Grace. The Wildlings…" Littlefinger frowned, "The Wildlings all across the north have taken refuge in other people's homes against their will. When my knights arrive to set things right, most fight back."

"I will speak to Tormund about it." Jon swears, "We must work together, all of us, with the Free Folk as well, if we're to survive through the long night. I speak to all of you now; tell your people that if the Free Folk come knocking at their door to welcome them with open arms, and I will tell Tormund to make sure his people offer to work for shelter and food."

There are numerous grumbles among Lords Manderly, Glover, and Cerwyn as he says this. Bran knew there was a tension running between the Lords and the Wildlings, and could understand why they would have a hard time adjusting. Winter was here, and they were just going to have to suffer it together. When all of the lords shuffle out, Littlefinger is the last to leave, and says "See you all at the wedding." with a wide smirk. Sansa is clearly uncomfortable, though for the first time since he's been back, Bran notices her eyes were dry… and coldly shrewd.

"He's lying." Sansa says to them as soon as the doors to the great hall close, "Littlefinger wouldn't send that many men to The Wall, he knows its suicide."

Jon looked tired as he replied, "You're saying that because you hate him."

"No, I'm saying it because it's true."

"I'll believe it when I hear from the Lord Commander how many men arrived. Can we put it to bed? I don't want to argue anymore."

"What will you do if Cersei decides to bring her armies north and surround us?" Sansa goes on, changing the subject to her true concern.

Jon laughs, "I wish the best of luck to them. Winter is here. They'll die marching through the snows before they ever make it and when they do we can hold them off."

"For how long?" Sansa asks furiously, "How long can we survive in this castle with so many northerners and wildlings flocking here for shelter from winter?"

"Three months…"

Silence followed these words. "What do you mean three months?" Bran asks after the shock registered.

"With so many people to feed our supplies have run low." Jon says, "All the more reason we need these alliances in the south with Cersei and the Ironborn to work out."

"Do any of the others know?" Bran asks.

"No. But every single one of them is worse off than us. Before long we might be sheltering a lot more people in Winterfell…" Jon looks sad as he admits this to them. "Which means in three months the north will starve and freeze to death unless we can work out an arrangement with the south. Lord Baelish informed me of this earlier. I know you don't approve, Sansa… But we can't battle amongst ourselves anymore."

* * *

Brienne

The pit rank of manure, sweat, and blood.

Brienne was sitting in it now, dressed in tattered small-clothes that exposed more of her skin than she liked, though being covered in mud constantly helped make her feel less on display. Her arm was wrapped in bandages that stunk of infection. It was the only wound she'd sustained so far in the Crannogmen's mud games.

Every day, in order to earn her food, she was pulled out from the pit by five men and thrown into another pit inside Greywater Watch itself. The first time Brienne set eyes on the high tower walls she was amazed. _How could such a wonder be hidden from the world out here?_ In the center of the keep was the largest of the towers. Moss and fungi draped across it, covering the brick with nature's green camouflage. The pit inside where they played their Mud Games was larger than the one they kept her in; almost like their own make-shift arena. Ten feet down and the only way out was to somehow make it back up the muddy walls without slipping. She'd tried but even at her larger height could not make it back up without the help of the Crannogmen, who were there to beat her into submission if she fought back. In this pit, hundreds would gather to watch Brienne fight a lizard-lion with her bare hands.

The first time they made her fight one, Brienne had never laid eyes on such a creature before. She'd heard tales of men wandering into the swamps and being eaten by them; not many could say what one looked like. The beast was the size of a full grown direwolf, its scales dark green and black, its head as long as its tail. The Crannogmen kept broods of them in pens and when they released one it went on a rampage, snapping its massive jaws at anyone foolish enough to get their hands too close while they maneuvered it into the mud pit. Once done the Crannogmen fled up top to watch the battle commence, though unlike normal crowds, the Crannogmen did not cheer or make any sound at all while they watched. Their silence emphasized the lizard-lion's furious grumble as it would set its eyes on Brienne and charge for her on its four stumpy legs.

The first fight she nearly lost her arm when she tried to wrestle the lizard-lion into the mud and get on top of it. In its mad snapping, the monster's jaws had managed to slash her. Since then Brienne had come up with a new way to defeat it. Whenever one came after her, Brienne would grab it by its mandibles, cutting her fingers between its razor-sharp teeth. Unable to bite through Brienne's sheer strength, she would steer it around until she could yank down hard enough to break its neck. At first Brienne had hoped doing this would earn her right to freedom. She was sadly mistaken when they pulled her up and forced her back into her cramped pit where she slept, ate, urinated and shit…

Sometimes Brienne heard wolves howling up at the moon on nights like this one. It was comforting to hear them, for it reminded her of Sansa and her duty to return to her. _I will get out of here, somehow. I swear it, My Lady._

Light broke the darkness and she looked up to see the Red Woman standing above her pit holding a flaming torch. "Lady Brienne… it breaks my heart to see you this way."

"I'm sure it does." Brienne grimaced, "What brings you to my cell?"

"I wanted to see you." Melisandre answers plainly, no remorse in her tone at all, "You once threatened me at Castle Black. Do you remember?"

"I should have struck you down instead of threaten." Brienne mutters.

"Perhaps you're right. You wouldn't be here if you had." The Red Woman smiles, "Or perhaps you would. The Lord of Light's will affects us all whether we want it to or not."

"Does Howland Reed believe in your God?" Brienne asks curiously, "Or is he just using you for your pretty face?"

"Howland Reed has no need for my pretty face, at least not as far as he's concerned. He does, however, believe in the Lord of Light's power. That's all that matters."

"What about Jon Snow? How could you betray him like this?"

"Jon Snow exiled me and threatened to murder me if I returned." Melisandre frowns. "If he was the Lord's Chosen he would not have cast me out."

"So this is vengeance then? Is that it?"

"No. It's the Lord's blessing. There is another who has caught the Lord of Light's gaze, one who is ambitious and devout in his belief in false gods. I must show him the way."

"Who are you talking about? Howland Reed?"

"No, my lady. King's Blood is required, and Howland is no king."

 _Then who?_ Brienne wonders as Melisandre turns and leaves.

* * *

Davos

Around a hundred ships were docked along the coastline to the west. Down below Davos witnessed hundreds of Ironborn soldiers… if you could even call them soldiers. Some were hacking at trees, cutting them down, and building ships out of the carved wood on the sand while others were burning and raping their way through fishing villages, their screams of madness echoing in the air all around him. Some trees were on fire and Davos suspected an accident had occurred, though none seemed concerned enough to remedy the mistake. Davos rode his horse down a winding dirt road toward the beach where the bulk of the Greyjoy forces were stationed. Guardsmen wearing steel plating bearing the sigil of the kraken stopped him and forced him to dismount. "I have urgent business here, on behalf of the King!" He told them.

"Which king, old man?" Growls the guard.

"The King in the North." Davos says proudly.

"King of the Iron Islands is the only king I care about. Get lost before we gut you." The growling guard threatens while the other guard shakes his head and says, "Knock it off, Sevron. Look at 'em, how much 'arm can he do?"

"Fine but if King Euron gets angry I'm telling him this was your fault."

The two dimwitted guards lead Davos to the main tent pitched beside the water. The sun was rising giving the ocean a beautiful glimmer. The sea breeze was familiar and salty as ever; Davos did not miss being a smuggler but he did miss traveling the open ocean and the feeling of the waves rocking his boat. _When this is over, someday, I'd like to buy a boat and live out the rest of my days fishing…_ He thought to himself as he turned his attention on the encampment ahead. Euron's tent was bigger than all the rest, of course. The kraken flag fluttered loudly in the wind overhead as he was allowed inside.

The King of the Iron Islands, Euron Greyjoy was seated at the far end of the tent. A naked woman was bobbing her head up and down over his lap while another naked woman massaged his shoulders, a look of anguish in her eyes. _Saltwives_ , Davos thought, feeling an awkward sting in his cheeks. "Forgive me, Your Grace. I can come back another time?"

"I would not let you enter my tent if I was not prepared!" Calls the king with a laugh, "Come in! Come in! Don't mind the women, there's plenty to go around if you'd like one, friend! Hahaha!" Already Davos did not like this man, but he did not let it show on his face.

Instead, Davos offered a friendly grin and says, "I'm honored, Your Grace. But I come here on important business on behalf of the King of the North, Jon Snow."

"The King in the North!" Euron barks with a laugh and a wolfish howl, grabbing the girl before him by her hair and thrusting his cock deeper and rougher down her throat while she choked, "What could the White Wolf want with me?"

 _Is this a means of intimidation?_ Davos frowns. "My King would have you stop your pillaging of the Neck and join forces in an alliance for the coming war. The Long Night comes, and the Dead come with it. White Walkers have awoken and mean to march on the North. If we are to survive, we must all band together and—"

"I'll be honest with you, I don't care." Euron says before Davos can finish his sell.

"My Lord, how can you not care?"

" _Your Grace_ , not _My Lord,_ remember? I'm a King!" Euron snaps as the girl with her mouth around his groin pushed against him to let her go but his hand kept her firmly pressed where she was until her eyes rolled up into her head and Davos couldn't tell if she'd passed out, or… "What is your name?"

"I am Davos Seaworth, Your Grace." Davos answers, "I am also advisor to Jon Snow. He sent me here to plea for peace with you."

"A King who begs for peace is no king at all. A true king takes what is theirs by right of conquest. I say let the better man win." Euron smiles sadistically as he finally releases the girl and she collapses to the floor. Davos wanted to help her but knew better. Something about the way Euron sat there with his dick wagging at him infuriated Davos. _He shows no respect toward me or Jon._

"Apparently you don't know the difference between begging and a generous offer." Davos says, "If you decide to march on Winterfell with your band of, what—2,000 men? Half of you would starve to death and the other would freeze to death before a single one of you penetrated those walls and even if you did, The North is 50,000 strong. You would not leave wanting from this arrangement. The Dreadfort is abandoned with the Boltons dead. The King of the North would give it to you as compensation as well as all its lands if you swear fealty. You would have no need to _take_ anything except what you will own if you agree."

"You're a learned man, Seaworth." Euron says with an air of someone impressed, "You speak well, you're smart, and you're not afraid to talk back to me. I respect that. Most of my men are too cowardly to tell me what they honestly think. However, I should warn you since I'm starting to like you, be careful what you say. I can have a temper."

"I take it that means you're willing to discuss this further?" Davos asks hopefully.

"Aye. Sit down. Have some ale. Tell me more about this Dreadfort. Let me assure you I have no intentions of attacking the North, at least not yet anyway. So perhaps we can work out an arrangement."

Davos was surprised. "You're attacking the north right now, Your Grace."

"I'm pillaging the Neck. One might say it's both north and south here and the only people who care are the frog-eating bog-dwellers."

"Those bog-dwellers belong to House Reed, if I am not mistaken?" Davos asks, and Euron nods, snapping at the girl massaging his shoulders to take the other's place by his knees. "House Reed is loyal to the Starks."

"Yet they did not heed the call to battle when the King of the North battled the Bolton's Bastard. I wonder why that is." Euron smirks, "Perhaps you can ask him. He has sent me an invitation to join him at Greywater Watch. Like your King, he desires to make me an offer. Unlike my brothers, I am a more reasonable man and if given a good enough reason I will accept one of your terms."

 _He wants to hear out all his options before he decides._ Davos could respect this, though his distaste for Euron Greyjoy left him feeling sour. The girl sucking him seemed determined to do a better job than her predecessor, and he couldn't blame her. Euron barely seemed to notice her as he scratched his chin and served Davos a goblet of alcohol. "My true enemy awaits me across the sea. Have you heard of Daenerys Targaryen and her three dragons?"

"Aye, I heard the rumors but I believe what my eyes tell me more than my ears."

"As any wise man should." Euron says, toasting him with a drink of his own. "I've traveled to many foreign lands but only when I investigated the Dragon Queen did I discover that for once the rumors were true. She is real, Davos Seaworth, and she is coming to Westeros to retake the throne that is hers by birthright. She will be my wife and I will ride a dragon across the lands and burn every enemy I have to ash. Then it won't matter how many men your King has holed up in Winterfell."

"You speak of wild imaginations, Your Grace. If what you say is true then how exactly to you plan on marrying a woman like that?" Davos asks, humoring him.

"No woman's ever resisted _this_ cock!" Euron laughs, giving the woman's head a rocky wiggle.

Davos sighs, "I must admit I am disappointed. I thought you'd have a better plan than that."

"Who says I don't?" Euron smirks, "You're still my enemy. Why would I tell you all my secrets?"

Still, Davos didn't believe him. He'd summed up Euron within the first minute of meeting him. This man was sex-crazed, arrogantly ambitious, and genuinely insane. Jon would never allow this man to rape and pillage through the north. _If we didn't need his men for the battle to come, I'd say bugger to all of this, but..._ Davos took a drink with a grimace, watching and waiting for the girl on the floor to show any signs of life... _Stannis wouldn't put up with a man like this, that's for sure. He wouldn't care what the ultimate consequences were... or would he?_ Davos realized he didn't know Stannis as well as he thought he did. The man he respected once would never have burned his own daughter alive... _It wasn't Stannis alone. It was the Red Woman's influence over him that killed Shireen..._ In spite of Stannis, Davos trusted Jon, and decided he would put up with Euron for as long as he could muster.

* * *

Cersei

A knock at the door told Cersei that her Hand had arrived. Qyburn entered and found his Queen with her back to him, standing over the large table that once belonged to the King's council. _Lovely table_ , she remembered Tyrion's mocking voice.

"My Queen."

"What is it, Qyburn?" Cersei asks quietly, not looking up.

"My little birds found another message from the rebellion. This one was written under the previous one on Baelor's head."

"What did it say this time?"

"It said _soon the Bull will bring down the Lion_ , and underneath that it read: _Come join the Iron Bull's Army._ It appears he's recruiting the commonfolk, Your Grace."

Cersei's tolerance toward this rebellion was growing thin. After three of her guards were found dead and strung up, Cersei took it as a slight toward her; not because they were her guards but because whoever killed them hung them near where Cersei had hung Septa Unella. It was as translucent as insults came. "I want this Iron Bull found and brought to me today, Qyburn!" She growls under her breath.

"We have men searching the city and my little birds are everywhere, Your Grace. We'll find him."

Cersei turned around and revealed she was holding a longsword. It was beautifully crafted with a red ruby in its golden hilt. "Do you know what this is?" She asks him.

"No, Your Grace."

"Valyrian Steel. Joffrey named it 'Widow's Wale' the day he died. It was a gift from my father, forged from Eddard Stark's own sword. A very fine thing. Very rare." Cersei smiled as she admired the sword's length.

"I have heard of such swords, Your Grace. However smithing and swords was never of much interest to me in Oldtown."

"When Joffrey died it was passed to Tommen, though the boy never touched it. It's now been passed on to me…" Cersei removed the sword from its sheath, its black blade glimmering in the candlelight. _Widow's Wale fits,_ she thinks with a smirk, _I think I'll keep the name._

"Will you be fighting beside your men?" Qyburn asks sardonically. "It would be quite the sight to behold."

"No." Cersei sighs, putting the blade away, "But a Queen needs to prove she can fight her own battles all the same. When I find this Iron Bull I will execute him myself, I think." _Only then will they fear me._ "Tell me, have your little birds finished preparing the city's defenses?"

"Almost, Your Grace. There is quite a lot to manage but we're getting the work done, I'm told."

"Good." Cersei said, "I want King's Landing prepared for any northerners who are foolish enough to come here."

"Lord Tarly has arrived in the capital this morning and is awaiting your audience in the throne room, by the way. I believe he is here to swear fealty. House Tarly was loyal to House Tyrell before… I would be cautious in approaching this man. He has a powerful army and might not be too happy about his allies being blown up."

"I shall meet him soon." Cersei says.

Soon comes and she finds herself seated once again on the Iron Throne. Its sharp barbs pricked her skin every time she sat down. Qyburn had given her a cream for the cuts that plagued her fingers and bottom, but this did not prevent her from slicing open a new gash every time she moved. _The Iron Throne doesn't like you_ , she heard Tyrion's voice mocking her as he always did.

Randyll Tarly walked up to her, followed in tow by his wife and two children. He was dressed in his armor, bearing the sigil of a huntsman across his chest and shield. He had a sour look on his face, and when he bent the knee his eyes never left the Queen. _He's a shrewd man. Father always liked him._

"Your Grace, I, Randyll Tarly, come before you and swear fealty on my House's honor!" Lord Tarly's voice thundered in a deep, gravely echo through the hall. His wife, son, and daughter all bent the knee and lowered their heads in respect.

"Lord Randyll Tarly, you're quite the legend on the battlefield, I'm told." Cersei addresses him calmly. "Have you brought the resources I asked for?"

"I have." Answers the old man grimly, "25,000 of my men will join the Lannisters in the war against the North."

"If it comes to that." Qyburn reminds him, "The Queen's brother is negotiating terms with the King in the North. He should arrive in Winterfell in a few weeks, I'd imagine. Possibly longer with those winter storms."

"The King will bow before me as you have, Lord Tarly, or my brother will have his head. I thank you for your loyalty to the crown, and offer you a place here in the Red Keep with your family. Lord Tarly, I would name you Commander of our armies on the battlefield and grant you a seat on the Queen's council."

"It would be an honor, Your Grace." Randyll said, though his tone suggested otherwise. Cersei wonders how much it will take to make him forget his old allegiances. The old man clears his throat and says, "I bring dark tidings. The Vale has declared themselves for the Starks."

Cersei frowns and her fingers gain several new cuts. _That little snake._

Littlefinger had lied to her. He'd promised to bring her Sansa Stark after the battle between the Boltons and Stannis, yet that was ages ago. "If that little worm wishes to spend his time with the wolves then so be it… Inform Lord Baelish I will have his head sitting next to Sansa's on my wall for this treachery!"

* * *

Arya

"They're children. The Hand gives them food as payment. They enter the Red Keep through the tunnels by a sewer grate, but you need a key to get past the dungeons." Arya informs Gendry as the two of them examine a map of King's Landing under torchlight. It was close to midnight and every so often they would hear the stomping footsteps of Lannister guards walking by. The Queen had her men scouring the city, throwing people out of their homes and onto the streets for questioning during the day and by night, patrolling every road and making a lot of noise to give the people a harder time sleeping.

Gendry was bent over the map, tracing his finger along the roads as he listened to Arya finish. "Still, it's good to know there's a way in and out of the keep. The gaolers keep keys on them, and I imagine the Hand does as well. You think you can nick them off of one?"

"Maybe." Arya frowns, "Did you hear what I said? She's using children to spy on people!"

"It's a tragedy." Gendry says, "But what do you want me to say?"

"They aren't at fault." Arya says, "They're starving. Anyone would do anything for food when they're starving. The boy I followed couldn't be more than ten…"

"Like I said, it's a tragedy. When I kill the Queen the children will be free, they won't be harmed."

"If you kill the Queen." Arya mutters, causing Gendry to glare at her.

"You saying you don't think I can do this?"

"I'm saying I might get to her first." Arya smiles.

Gendry scoffs. "I have over a thousand men in my army. What do you have? A couple of faces and a skinny sword?"

She hits him and he hisses with pain. Arya almost giggles and says, "I have faster reflexes."

"You should just stay out of this, Arya…" Gendry looks apologetic as he tells her this.

Arya scowls at him. "Without me you wouldn't know anything I just told you. I can help you and I'm going to."

"I can't see you get hurt."

Arya wondered if she was supposed to feel something at these words. Being hurt just seemed a normal thing to her. "You can play the big strong man out there but don't act like I'm some weak little girl." She tells him sharply.

"But you _are_ a little girl." Gendry says flatly, "You're still a kid. I can't let you die for my war. Please. I appreciate all your help but I don't want it anymore… You should leave King's Landing and find your brother."

"My brother is on The Wall and is probably dead by now!" Arya spits, tears in her eyes as Gendry's words stung her. _Why is he doing this?!_ "You're an idiot, Gendry! _An idiot_!" She turns and storms off in a fury, leaving Gendry in a state of shock.

"Wait! _Arya!_ Your brother is _alive_!"

She stopped before she reached the door and turned back to look at him. "What?"

"Jon Snow? He's your brother, right? They made him the King in the North last I heard."

"Jon? King?" Arya couldn't believe it. "You're wrong. Jon is a bastard on The Wall. He was Lord Commander when I heard of him last. Not King of anything."

"They made him king when he took Winterfell back from the Boltons with your sister."

Arya had to sit down. _Sansa is alive? Jon is King?_ "How do you know all this?"

"Everyone knows it. I'm surprised you don't."

"That doesn't make sense…" _How can a bastard rise to be king?_ _Wouldn't Sansa be the true heir to Winterfell?_ So many questions plagued her. Arya missed Jon more than anyone else, and had debated traveling north to see him instead of south at the Twins… If only she could talk to him, or…

"You want me to go? Knowing I have a king for a brother?" Arya asks him angrily.

"What does that got to do with it?"

"I can ask him for help! If he knows I'm here he will come down with his army and we can take out the Queen together!" _How could Gendry not have thought of this?!_ Arya was sure Jon would want vengeance for their father's death just as much as she did.

"I hope you know how to train a raven to carry a message to Winterfell." Gendry says sarcastically, "The Hand suggested they lock away all the ravens in the Red Keep. Nobody in the city but the highborn can send messages anymore in King's Landing. The Hand said it was for protection."

"Then I'll sneak inside, and—"

"No!" Gendry rounded on her, "You can't risk your life any more than you already have. Please…"

"Why is it ok for you to risk your life but not mine?!" Arya shouts, forgetting that the guards outside might hear her.

Gendry walks to her and embraces her in a hug. She accepts it numbly, feeling like no one again. "I don't want you to die with me. Live a long life somewhere far from here." He whispered.

With all her might Arya shoves him back. "Idiot." She says one final time before turning around and walking out the door.

* * *

Samwell

Every time Sam opened a new book, he had high hopes that this would be the one he'd find the answers he sought. Above him a beam of light reflecting off the many golden armillary spheres illuminated Sam's work space. He was given a large, mahogany table and free reign of any book in the library. The Archmaester said he would be back to help Sam study but he had other duties to attend to. That was four days prior, and Sam still hadn't seen the old, kindly man. So Sam set out alone, digging through ancient history books and reading about wars that happened long ago; some Sam had heard of already and others he hadn't. The only relevant battle he could find was _The Battle for the Dawn._ It was the only recorded war against the White Walkers in all the books he found. Many gave brief descriptions and musings as to what actually happened in the battle. The only facts, as far as Sam could discern, gave little clues as to how men were able to defeat them—only that after it was done, they built The Wall to keep them out. _But how did they push them back? Why do none of the history books say why? Or where they came from?_ Sam decided these books weren't going to help. Next he set out to study on Dragonglass. It was as he was climbing the chains to reach a book on the fourth shelf that a voice down below gave him a shock and he nearly fell off.

"Sorry there, Tarly." Laughed Archmaester Archybald. "Gave you a fright, did I?"

"Yes, you did." Sam smiles meekly, managing to grasp the book he was reaching for and climb back down. "Where've you been?"

"I'm old, Sam. Not as old as the rest of these codgers, mind you; just old enough to want to sit down and not get back up again for many an hour. Ha!" Archybald scratched at his black beard and glanced at the book in his hands. " _Inventories_? Curious... Fact checking something?"

"I'm researching where I can find dragonglass in the seven kingdoms." Sam says, "I've heard Dragonstone has a stock-pile, but that's it as far as I know."

"Dragonstone. Hmmmm." The old man appeared to ponder this, his beady eyes watching Sam flip through _Inventories_ to the chapter on Dragonstone. "Obsidian forged by dragon fire if I'm not mistaken. You claim you killed a White Walker with such an object?"

"I did." Sam nods, scrolling down the pages with his finger. "My brothers and I found a cache hidden on the Fist of the First Men. There was a bunch of them, daggers and arrowheads. There was a horn too, but it was cracked. Someone from the Watch wrapped them up in their black cloak and left it there for someone to find one day. Unfortunately, well…"

"Do you still have this dragonglass?"

"No. I gave it away to Bran Stark when they crossed The Wall."

"The other Maesters will find this suspicious when you tell them." Archie warned.

"Why would I need to tell them anything?"

"If you wish to earn the first link in your chain, you'll have to provide evidence that you've learned a great deal in the area of study. Just so happens the area of higher mysteries you're studying is not the easiest link to obtain. Only three in recent years have ever managed to do this; I include myself on that list."

"I don't get it." Sam admits. "What do I have to prove to them?"

"Well, to put it bluntly, you have to outsmart the old fucks. Answer every question they give you and try and teach them something you learned."

"What did you do?" Sam asks innocently.

Archie grinned and said "I can't tell you that! Hahaha! Nice try, though."

Sam sat back down in a defeated way. The archmaester liked to joke around and Sam appreciated him for it. The archmaester was a curious fellow indeed, though just having someone to bounce his ideas off from helped from time to time. Gilly wasn't as educated and Sam had a hard time communicating with her about the politics of the world, but not with Archie.

"If dragonglass is forged from dragon fire then that means it's impossible to make more of it." Sam sighs, finding what he was looking for at last. "Shame really, according to this there's a thousand tons of it underneath Dragonstone. Obsidian is the natural rock found on the island. I guess the Targaryens lived there once. I wonder if they knew about its ability to put down White Walkers?"

A booming, raspy cackle split their conversation from behind. Sam spun around in his chair and saw a Maester approaching, though he was unlike any maester Sam had ever seen. He was an unkempt large man with a pot-belly that stuck out from between his robes without shame. White, long strings of hair wisped out from his nose and ears, and his laughter revealed blue-stained teeth. He walked with a long, black staff that clinked every time he took a step; and Sam noticed it was made of Valyrian Steel. The man's laughter halted as he came upon them. "Archie!"

"Marwyn!" Archie rushes up and embraces the strange maester. "Good to have you back, old friend!"

"Not as good to be back, I'm afraid." The pot-bellied man chuckles, "The open seas were a refreshing departure from this dour old tower. The Shadow Lands of Asshai is an amazing place, my friend. I implore you to travel with me next time—stretch those old bones of yours!"

"You've been to Asshai?!" Sam blurts out.

Marwyn turns his attention to Sam, studying him with wild, bulging eyes. "I have, boy. Tell me, what do you know about the Shadow Lands?"

"Not a lot. Nobody goes there for fear of monsters…" Sam says, remembering the legends. "Is it true what they say? Do dragons still live there?!"

Marwyn's cackle boomed and echoed all across the library. "I like your new student, Arch. What's his name?"

"Samwell Tarly. He wishes to study the higher mysteries much like yourself."

"Really now? Well, Samwell Tarly, let me tell you." He leaned in close then, intimidating Sam, "I have seen things that would send you screaming back to your mother's breast; things even the vilest of individuals would consider repulsive. Golems prowl the volcanic plains, breathing fire and eating obsidian. A cult of Warlocks sacrifice every newborn girl to flying demons so that they might communicate with the Gods. As for Dragons, I'm sorry to say, there were none to be found in Asshai…" Marwyn's smile frightened Sam. "But I have seen three dragons, alive and well, in the city of Meereen. Daenerys Targaryen, have you heard of her?"

 _I have heard that name before._ Sam tries to remember. "Wasn't she one of the Mad King's children that was smuggled away after Robert's Rebellion?"

"Oh yes. Her and her brother. Don't know what happened to him but Daenerys rules in Essos with her dragons. They have grown remarkably well, and it is my belief she means to conquer Westeros soon."

"Don't give too much credit to Marwyn, Sam." Archie mocks, "They call him Marwyn the Mage because he is the only Maester alive who thinks magic still exists."

"And you, my dear friend, are envious of my inane ability to tap into things you can't understand." Marwyn retorts with a friendly grin, his blue teeth giving Sam the creeps. _Does he really believe in magic and everything he says?_ If Dragons really were real, then…

"Maester Marwyn, can I ask you some questions?" Sam stands up.

"Please, Sam. Call me Marwyn the Mage. I'm more proud of that title than 'Maester'."

"Sam, perhaps we should give Marwyn some time to settle in." Archie says, a look of worry on his face for some reason. "You have a lot of reading to do too."

"I can speak for myself, Arch, thank you." Marwyn waves his hand and beckons for Sam to follow him. "Come. Let us speak privately."

As Sam moves to follow him, Archmaester Archybald places a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Sam, whatever he says, don't let him give you anything."

Sam blinks, more confused than ever. "What? Why?"

"Just trust me, alright."

"But…"

"Hurry Sam!" Calls Marwyn the Mage as he clunked his way out of the library.

Sam didn't understand. _Aren't they old friends?_ He follows the strange maester up the spiraling staircase and after several minutes of tiresome walking, found himself standing at the top of the tower in the room with the glass candle again. Marwyn the Mage was huddled over it with his back to Sam as he approached with caution.

"Why are we up here?" Sam asks.

"I wanted to work on something. Go ahead, boy. Ask your questions."

"Alright, um, first… How many dragons does Daenerys have?"

"Three." Marwyn answers, albeit absentmindedly. Sam heard the clinking of glass as the maester pulled something out from his robes.

"When did you see them?"

"About a year ago. I had heard in my travels of the Mother of Dragons so I decided to see for myself. I, like many men, do not believe anything until my eyes have witnessed it. Always trust your eyes, Sam; never your ears or your own tongue. Just your eyes."

"Why do you think she's coming to conquer Westeros?"

"Why wouldn't she? She has dragons, an army, and experience ruling as a Queen now. Not only that, but she has the birthright to overthrow the Mad Queen. The people in King's Landing would support her. All she has to do is come and take the throne for herself. Though, if you're looking for evidence, all I can tell you is that my eyes never lie. Come, Sam. Let me show you what they see."

Gulping down his nerves, Sam steps up beside Marwyn and sees that he is holding a small vial filled with glowing, green liquid. "What is that?"

"Wildfire." Marwyn nonchalantly replies with a smirk.

Sam almost ran. "What in the bloody hell do you have wildfire for?!"

"Do you know what wildfire is, young boy? Don't preach to me about its dangers. I've been handling this stuff since before you were born." Marwyn muttered with a dark look. "Wildfire in the wrong hands can be devastating, but in my hands we are safe, rest assured. Now watch. Don't look away. Don't blink."

He uncorked the vial and poured its green contents over the glass candle. It seeped into the rugged, black wick and seemed to meld with it. "Wildfire is an ancient secret recipe made of Dragon's blood. Some of the last of the dragons to exist hundreds of years ago were sacrificed in order to create this sustenance. The Targaryens did their best to keep its recipe a secret, but every secret has its cracks."

"Where did you get it?"

"It isn't difficult to procure when the Hand of the Queen is your brother."

"Your brother is the Hand? Why aren't you with him?"

"We prefer to keep to ourselves. We help each other from time to time, but I have no interest in politics or power. Our ambitions differ in that regard." Marwyn reveal another flask, this one larger than the last. Inside was a blue liquid Sam didn't recognize. As he uncorked the bottle, Marwyn smiled wickedly. "Shade of the Evening."

"Isn't that a… drug?"

"It's more than a drug." Marwyn cackles, "I have friends among the warlocks who showed me its value." He uncorked it and swallowed half of the vial as if it were ale. When he pulled back his lips were as blue as his teeth. "Would you like to partake, Sam? Join me in my vision quest and all of your questions will have answers, I guarantee."

"Oh no, no, I can't." Sam refuses, shaking his head and backing away smiling awkwardly.

"Are you quite sure?" Marwyn asks, "What are you afraid of?"

"Isn't that stuff… addicting?"

"Addiction is just another excuse for fools who can't help themselves." Marwyn snaps, "Did Arch tell you not to?"

"Well, yes."

"I assume Arch also said this candle can never be lit because magic doesn't exist?"

"Yes…" _But I want to believe._

"Well behold, this is no mere candle made of glass—it is made of dragon glass!" Marwyn raised his Valyrian Steel staff and touched its end to the candle, " _Dracarys_!" He hisses and the candle's wick ignites into a tall, flickering green flame that brightens the room and threatens to sweep the ceiling. Sam fell onto his bottom, his eyes wide as saucers and his jaw unhinged as he watched the fire dance around Marwyn as though it were alive. Finally the flames settled and the candle flickered, its shimmering glass surface brilliantly green. Marwyn laughs maniacally, thrusting his staff into the air in triumph. "They all said I was _mad_! They all said it couldn't be done! _Hahaha_! Magic does exist, Samwell Tarly! See it with your own eyes!"

Sam got up in awe and slowly approached the flame. It was radiant and beautiful in a way Sam had never seen fire before. "Drink with me, Sam, and you can see what I see in the flames," Marwyn the Mage whispers beside him, "Cast aside your fears and doubts. Through the fire we can see all."

 _I can't. This isn't right…_ But Sam also wanted to see more. Marwyn had done what he thought was impossible. "You really are a mage."

"You can be too, Sam." Marwyn hands him the Shade of the Evening and Sam receives it slowly. _Could I find the way to defeat the White Walkers with this?_ He casts Marwyn an unsure glance, but the old man is already lost in the fire. Sam gulps, thinking of what Gilly would say if she knew. _You have a baby and you left us out here so you could drink with some crazy man?_ Then he imagined what Jon would say if Sam came back to him empty handed… _You failed me, Sam. I never should've trusted you._

The Shade of the Evening smelled of rotten flesh, and tasted of everything Sam could imagine tasting, and more. Swallowing it down, Sam almost immediately threw it back up, but closed his eyes and forced himself to stomach it. It left a thick, honey-like residue in his mouth that made him gag. Marwyn smacked him on the back in congratulations. Already Sam's head felt lighter like he was drunk. His heart quickened painfully in his chest, and Sam thought he was going to be sick anyway. The room began to spin. Marwyn's face contorted and shape-shifted into that of a monstrous walrus with white hair spilling out of every hole in his head. Sam was perplexed. All fear, all feeling, was gone from him. He felt like he could do anything. The green fire was inviting him in. Sam stared into it, mesmerized by its intricate patterns of movement.

Then the fire changed its shape, grew in size, and opened like a window into another world. Sam was sucked inside, his world turning into a bright, green vortex. Marwyn was beside him, laughing. Sam felt like laughing too, but refrained, amazed by the beauty of this world. Three dragons were flying in the flames toward them. Each one had a rider aboard, though Sam couldn't make out their faces. He watched as the three dragons soared over his head… and into a darkness behind him Sam did not realize was there. The darkness was cold and frightening, yet the dragons and their riders rode into it without fear. They disappeared until nothing was left of them for Sam to see. Darkness surrounded him and the fire washed away. Marwyn was gone, and Sam was all alone. The void he stood within was endless. In its blind depths, Sam saw blue eyes staring back at him.

* * *

Sansa

Sansa Stark was seated at the war table in the great hall between Bran and Jon, not really listening to the debate they were having with the wildling, Tormund Giantsbane. Her thoughts were elsewhere, thinking of her wedding in just a few short days. All of Jon's Bannermen would attend, so the whole north would know of it. She hadn't spoken to Jon since he'd told her his decision. It was expected of her to forgive him and move on from this… but Sansa didn't know how to.

"I've heard reports of conflicts between the Free Folk and the other northerners." Jon says to Tormund, who stands before him looking angry. "I've left you in charge of your people and given them The Gift as their lands. But with winter here anywhere outside a castle or keep isn't safe, so I understand your people's needs. I've ordered the northern lords to give your people shelter and safety during winter. The only thing they have to give in return is their service and labor. Can your people work together with the rest?"

"You've been hearing the wrong reports, Your Grace." Tormund growls, "My people have been treated like dogs. The ones who fought in your war are dying in the snow because your fancy lords won't let them in."

"As I said, I've instructed them to—"

"They're lying if they say they'll do it." Tormund interrupts him, "You call us the Free Folk but the rest of the north still calls us Wildlings."

"I cannot stop discrimination in the north, Tormund. I can only ask that you do your best to work with them. If there's any trouble then tell me and I will deal with it." Jon nods.

"I'm telling you now. My people will die when the Long Night comes."

"No. They won't. Invite every Free Folk you can to come and stay in Winterfell. We have the room and a lot of work we can give them. If the other lords don't like it then they can take it up with me."

Tormund smiles appreciatively. Sansa, however, scowls at her older brother. _We only have enough food to last three months and he's inviting more people in?_ She wanted to voice her concerns, but like always Jon would just talk her down. As Tormund turned to leave, the doors to the hall opened and someone Sansa thought she'd never see again entered carrying a pale boy over his shoulders. Suddenly she was on her feet, her heart skipping in her chest.

The Hound glared across the hall at them, and their eyes met. He was covered in snow and unlike every other time she saw him he was without armor. His clothing clung to his muscular body and his hair was matted over the burned left side of his face. "Can I get some fucking help here!?"

"Who the fuck are you?" Tormund asks him suspiciously, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword.

"You a maester?" The Hound asks him.

"Do I look like a maester?"

"No? Then get out of my way."

"Why don't you set that boy down and make me, big man." Tormund steps up to him and gets in his face. Neither look away, both are unafraid. The Hound smiles grimly.

"Tormund, stand down!" Jon bellows.

The giant wildling did as his King commanded, though his eyes never left the Hound's as he backed away. Sansa couldn't believe he was here. She'd wondered what became of him after the Battle of the Blackwater and just assumed he'd gone and died in a tavern somewhere. He was carrying another she recognized to be Brienne's squire, though his name eluded her at first. Jon's maester came rushing out of nowhere to meet them and carry Pod down onto a table to examine him. "He's frostbitten. Could lose his hands and feet. We need to warm him up." The maester, a chubby bald man, told them. He was the previous maester for Ramsay Bolton, but a maester served the castle's current lord and not a house specifically and he was quick to swear servitude to Jon when they took back Winterfell.

"What happened to him? Where is Brienne?" Sansa asks the Hound, approaching them slowly.

Once again she was reminded of how large he was as he looked down on her, brushing snow out of his hair and onto the clean floor. "They were ambushed in the swamps by the Crannogmen." He told them, looking between her and Jon, unsure of who to speak to. "I wasn't there. Pod found me on the road. Would've died so I took him here."

"He might die yet." The maester sighs, "But you also may have saved his life. I'll do the best I can. I can examine you as well, Ser…"

"I'm not a knight." He growls. "I'm fine. Just need something to drink and eat. Ale, not water."

"You'll have all you need. First, tell us who you are." Jon says.

"He's Sandor Clegane." Sansa says, frowning up at him. "Brienne was captured by Crannogmen? Why?"

"I wasn't there. Who knows why?" The Hound shrugs. "Probably being too fucking loud."

"Howland Reed is their leader." Jon says, glaring over at Bran and Meera. "Why would he do this?"

"It must be a misunderstanding. He couldn't have known it was her." Meera says defensively. _He is her dad_ , Sansa remembers.

"Of course you would say that." Sansa snaps at her, "Brienne would obviously say she was loyal to the Starks and then he would release her, right? So then why isn't she back yet?"

"You haven't seen it out there, Little Bird." The Hound sniffs, "Nearly died walking through the snow to get up here. It might be wiser to stay south."

Sansa saw Jon's face contort into a frown, his eyes going between the Hound and Sansa suspiciously. "I will send Howland Reed a raven. I will command that he release Brienne of Tarth at once."

"And if he doesn't obey your command?" Sansa bitterly asks.

"My father would never betray the Starks!" Meera shouts at her and Bran grabs her shoulder to stop her from standing up. "He has always been loyal! He didn't know! Just tell him to release her and he will!"

"But if he doesn't, what then?!" Sansa yells back.

"Seven hells." The Hound mumbles, making Tormund snort in spite of himself.

"Silence! The both of yah!" Jon's voice thunders across the hall. "I will deal with this properly, you both have my word. I need Howland Reed as my ally and I will not start a war with him, not now!"

"All you ever do is send ravens and talk about making allies!" Sansa yells, "You don't understand what these people can do. Brienne is a woman, do you think his men wouldn't have raped her by now? If Howland Reed is so loyal then where was he when you called for aid against Ramsay?!"

"Defending the Neck!" Meera growls. "Freys and Ironborn invade our lands all the time! He can't leave it all unprotected! He swore an oath to your father to do this!"

"Meera, please stop." Bran begged at her side.

"You should tell your sister to watch what she says about things she doesn't understand."

Sansa wanted nothing more than to respond, but Jon yelled "That's enough!"

She saw the Hound staring at her. Suddenly she was struck with an idea. "Sandor Clegane." She addresses him, "You once offered to save me from the Lannisters and bring me home. Will you do me this favor and rescue my swornsword?"

Silence followed her words.

"Sansa, I've made up my mind about this." Jon says but she ignores him, waiting for Sandor to respond.

"Brienne almost killed me once." The Hound grimaces.

"You were with my sister. She was sworn to protect her just as much as me."

"I was already protecting her." The Hound growls.

"You were with Arya?" Jon asks, approaching them now. "When? Is she ok? Was she hurt?"

"Calm down! It was a year ago last I saw her. She left me begging to die. Haven't seen her since. She wasn't hurt."

"She's alive." Jon looks unbelievably relieved. "Where could she be now?"

"Probably dead." The Hound scoffs.

"Well I thank you for looking after her. Please don't heed my sister's words, I will take care of it. In the meantime you are welcome to stay in Winterfell as long as you like."

"I'll heed your sister's words all I like, if it's all the same."

"It's not all the same. As King of the North, Sansa, I command you to stay out of this."

Sansa finally looks at him, and this time there's no tears in her eyes. "You can't stop me. She's my swornsword and I'm… I'm a Stark of Winterfell."

"Sansa…" Jon trails off, his brow furrowed with concern. "Howland Reed was loyal to our father."

_You mean my father._

"Sandor, will you help me?" She asks, reaching out and taking one of his massive hands in both of hers. He reproached at first, but she held onto him. "I would reward you for your aid."

"What sort of reward?"

"Gold. Food. A Keep of your own if you want it… and I would name you my swornsword as well if you'd have me."

"Sansa, you can't—"

"Fine." The Hound says loudly. "You want me to save your bodyguard, I'll save her. But don't make me like her. I'm no swornsword, I'm no knight, and I'm nobody's Hound anymore. I'll leave in the morning, but I want a reliable horse that can weather the storm this time."

"You won't be going alone." Growls a voice behind him and she sees Tormund Giantsbane grinning maliciously, saying, "My lovely lady is being held by frog-eaters. Fuck the morning, we leave tonight!"

"You can go by yourself tonight. I'm getting a good bloody night's rest first." The Hound tells him and the two men laugh, as though their tension before never happened at all.

"I will not have you starting a war over one sellsword!" Jon yells at her, and he sounds truly angry with her for the first time.

"We won't start a war, Your Grace." Tormund assures him, "One body, maybe two, but we'll get her out before any of them can see us."

"You don't know that. If they catch you, they'll hang you. Or worse." Jon says, "Let me handle this, I will explain to Howland Reed—"

"Let us go with them." Bran says, "Meera and I were discussing it earlier. We can tell him ourselves. I'm a Stark, and Meera is his daughter. He won't hurt us if we go with them."

"Bran…" Jon sounds defeated, giving Sansa a flutter of delight.

"It's ok, Jon. This way I can ask him more about…" Bran stopped, eyeing the Hound and Tormund. "About what we discussed earlier."

"I'm not dragging a crippled boy through the snow storm." The Hound says flatly.

"You won't have to. I'll take care of him." Meera says.

Jon was the only one in the room now against the plan. Sansa smiled, confidence restoring in her heart. "Fine." Jon said, "I will grant you ten men to take with you for protection."

"That'll only slow us down out there." Tormund says, "Just the four of us should be enough. Quick and easy."

"Fine. You will not start a war." Jon warns them.

"Aye. No wars." The Hound says, licking his lips as a serving wench brought him a tankard of ale and a plate of chicken.

* * *

Davos

The swamps were dark and cold as snow filtered through the trees. It was morning and Davos had spent the night with the ironborn against his will. Euron wouldn't let him leave, even when Davos promised to return the following day to accompany him to Greywater Watch. He was with Euron at the head of the army. All 2,000 of his men were traveling in their armor, prepared for battle. Davos wasn't. He had only his longsword, and he wasn't the young man he used to be.

"Is it wise to bring your whole army in their lands?" Davos asks Euron as they wadded through the mud.

"Wiser than leaving them behind. I want Reed to see its size and tremble with fear."

Up ahead, people appeared amidst the fog. Men with greenish skin and unkempt, shaggy hair were holding spears up at the ready. Davos counted twenty of them. Among them was a squat old man, his skin covered in the same affliction Princess Shireen had, only his was far worse, covering his entire body from the looks of it… Davos stopped dead in the mud when he saw who stood beside him. There was no mistaking that red dress and hair. Rage bubbled in his heart, burning his cheeks and blinding his thoughts. He forgot why he was here; all he wanted was run up to her and strangle her with his hands… but with so many of the Crannogmen in his way it would be impossible.

Meanwhile, Euron and Howland Reed greeted each other, unaware that Davos and Melisandre knew each other. "Thank you for coming. I wasn't sure you would accept my invitation." Howland Reed spoke, his voice gravely and dry. "Though it appears you've come expecting bloodshed."

"I do enjoy a little bloodshed here and there." Euron grins, "I also know when the time for diplomacy can be more beneficial. You know why I've come here. I want your trees. I want your lands. I want your women, if you've got any that aren't diseased. I want everything you have."

"You can have it, and a lot more, if you agree to my terms." Howland says.

"Depends on your terms. You see, we Greyjoys take what is ours. That is our way of life. Let's hear you out and see what you have to say." Euron looks around at his men and they all roar with agreement. Davos shakes with anger, wishing he could speak, but the Red Woman's gaze infuriated him beyond comprehension. _What the fuck is she doing here?!_

Then she spoke, though not to Davos. "It would be a mistake for you not to, Your Grace. You would profit so much more from an alliance."

"Who's this?"

"The Lady Melisandre." Howland says, "She is my new priestess I've acquired. Tell me, Euron. Do you want to be King?"

"I am King, old man. King of the Iron Islands and soon I will be king of Westeros!" Euron announces confidently.

"How do you plan on doing this with only two thousand men?" Howland asks curiously.

"I will have a lot more than that with Daenerys Targaryen reaches our shores." Euron smirks, "I will marry her, make her Queen, and together we will rule on the backs of dragons!" Howland laughs at him. Euron isn't impressed, and his smirk turns into a scowl. "I didn't say a jest, old man."

"If you think a man like you can convince a Targaryen to marry you then you're a bigger fool than I thought, Euron Greyjoy." Howland chuckles. "She's more likely to burn you alive just for asking her." Davos couldn't believe Howland also believed in these dragons. Was what they were saying true? Could there really be a Targaryen Queen in their midst?

"Lord Reed, I am Davos Seaworth and I am here on behalf of the King of the North!" Davos speaks up then before Euron can respond to Howland's taunt, crossing his arms behind his back and standing straighter.

"Silence, Davos. Remember what I said about my patience." Euron warns him.

"Let him speak." Howland says.

"My Lords, I would ask the both of you to stop this senseless fighting and pledge fealty to Jon Snow. He is our one true King, and right now he needs the help of every man in the North, Neck, and South, if we're going to fight back against the true enemy." Davos says, forgetting about Melisandre for now and watching Howland.

"Tell me, Davos Seaworth. Who is our true enemy?"

"The Dead, My Lord. White Walkers are coming for us all. They march on The Wall when it's defended by less than fifty men. If they make it through, the North will fall first. All of us will perish. I know some of you must think the story false but I promise you, they're real! And they're coming! Just ask your Red Woman!"

Howland looks at Melisandre, raising an eyebrow. "We know each other." She explains, "Both of us once served Stannis Baratheon, before he fell."

"I see." Howland rubs his beard, thinking. "Davos, I assure you, I believe in the White Walkers just as much as your King does."

"Then join me in Winterfell and tell Jon yourself. We need every ally we can get."

"I'm afraid I cannot do that." Howland looks sad as he says, "I am loyal to House Stark. Your King is no true Stark at all. He is the son born of rape to Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen."

Davos glares at Melisandre. "What lies have you been telling him!?"

"She was unaware when I told her, Davos." Howland tells him, "I was there the day Jon was born at the tower of Joy. When Eddard Stark came out bearing that baby boy I had a feeling, but Ned confirmed it. His sister was captured, raped, and forced to bear a child for that noble prince. A woman like that…" Howland wipes tears from his eyes. Davos couldn't believe what he was hearing. _How could this be true? Jon was a bastard… but a Targaryen?_ "Ned Stark made me promise to keep his secret. But I never promised to forgive Rhaegar or love that boy. A Targaryen can never be trusted, Davos. Someday you might learn his for yourself."

"I thought I was going to be the topic of discussion?" Euron interrupts, walking toward the Crannogmen unafraid, his arms at his sides nonthreatening. "I've heard enough about the King in the North. What do you offer me, Howland? Give me a reason not to take your lands and not murder you all right here and now!?"

"We share a common enemy." Howland scowls, "Any Targaryen in power will only bring about ruin and chaos. Daenerys Targaryen must be stopped, at all cost. Join me, and you will have your kingdom, your dragons, and all you desire. All I ask for is your men in battle."

"I don't see how frog-eaters and tree-fuckers can help me take the throne?" Euron laughs, as well do his men. They didn't see the people emerging all around them from their hiding places, but Davos did. He watched as hundreds, if not thousands of men crawled out from behind a tree or a bush, appearing like shadows standing in the fog. The Ironborn's laughter died down as they all began to take heed. Howland's smile was penetrating.

"I outnumber you, Greyjoy. You underestimate my strength. We've avoided every war thus far, and my men are strong and fast. Look around you. Can you count how many? I doubt it, so let me help you; we are twenty thousand strong!" More and more arose from the shadows until Euron's army was completely encircled by them. Every one of them had a spear, but Davos noticed none of them wore armor like the Greyjoys. _It would be a massacre if they started fighting right now._

"My Lords, please listen to me!" Davos yells, "We can't fight amongst ourselves! It doesn't matter what blood we have in our veins or where our fathers came from! We are all men and we all share this country!"

But neither Euron nor Howland were listening. Euron had drawn his sword. "I will fight all of you dirty little shits right now! Do you think this scares me?! I am Euron Greyjoy!" His men all roared with lust for battle.

That was when Lady Melisandre came upon him. Euron let her get close, admiring her beauty. "It would be a mistake, My King. With us, you can have the power you seek. Every king has allies, you need only take them. You can also have me." She takes his hand and guides it up her face. "With me, you will have more than you ever dreamed of."

"How's that? I can dream big, My Lady. You're a beautiful women, but I have lots of beautiful women." Euron's fingers brush her lips, feeling her smoothness.

"I have seen you in the fire. You are the one true king and the Lord of Light's champion."

"That's what you told Jon Snow!" Davos yells, and he loses control. Suddenly he is running at her, his arms reaching for her. He doesn't think he'll make it. He's sure the mud would slow him down and Euron's guards would grab him—but he keeps going—and when his hands wrap around her throat he starts to choke the life out of her. She gasped and clawed at him to stop, but Davos refused, seeing only Shireen's young, pretty face. "You killed her!" He spat in her face as someone began to pull him off. His hand with only stubs for fingers manages to rip the necklace around her throat away in the chaos. Davos was pried backward by Euron and several of his guards. One shoved a blade under his chin but Davos didn't care. He was staring in horror, as were the rest of them, at the feeble, old woman in the mud.

She stared up at them with beady, frightened eyes. Her red dress hung from her lumpy, sagging body. "Nooooo!" The old woman moans, her voice low and desperate. " _Give it back! I need it! It's mine!"_ her bony arms reach for Davos, and he recoils away from her in terror.

"What the fuck is this?!" Euron bellows, snorting with delight. "Howland, you would offer me this disgusting old hag? You must be bloody madder than I thought. I was about to fuck her too. What a damn shame."

"Leave her be." Howland Reed says, hobbling on his walking stick over to them. His men stayed behind, but something else followed him. Davos didn't know where it had been hiding. It was so huge its abrupt appearance shocked him almost as much as finding out the Red Woman Stannis had been sleeping with for so long had been this old, pathetic thing in the mud. It stopped beside its master and growled menacingly at the Ironborn.

Never in his life has Davos beheld a Direwolf this big. Her fur was wet and matted down; brown and grey and wild. She growled as Howland bent down beside the old woman and helped her stand.

"Make him give it back!" Melisandre moaned to him, weeping. It was like all the life in her had drained away, all the wisdom, all the maturity. She was a child again, crying to her father for her favorite toy. "It's mine! I need it!"

"This is embarrassing, Reed." Euron says, "Tell me you didn't know of this or I'll take it as a trick and we can see which army is better."

Howland glared up at him, angered by his words. "You're just a big a fool as your brother. We won't be killing you, Greyjoy. We need each other."

"You would fight for me when the time comes to take the throne?" Euron asks, considering his proposal, impressed with the Direwolf beside Howland Reed. He then looks at Davos still sitting in the mud, and asks, "While you say the King will reward me a castle of my own in the north if I side with him. Let me think. One option leaves me as King of the realm and one leaves me as some Bannermen to a King I don't care about. Sorry, Davos. I think I'm going to go with the Frog-Eaters after-all. It was amusing watching you wrestle with the witch, but I think your use has met its end."

Davos felt the dagger at his throat press deeper against his flesh, drawing blood, and his life flashed before his eyes—

"Do not kill him." Howland Reed says.

"Why not? He's mine to kill."

"He's the King of the North's ambassador. Killing him is an act of war." Howland glowers at Davos without pity. "Send him away. Tell your King in the North that Howland Reed is no ally of his, and if we see any northern man in our lands they won't leave it alive."

Euron considered his words while Davos felt a strange numbness take hold over him. _If I die right now, then so be it. I've lived long enough. I've served long enough. I've seen the craziest shit there is to see. Let it end so I may be with Matthos again…_

" _Fine!_ Get out of here, Seaworth. Before I change my mind. Oh, and give me that necklace there. I think I'll keep it."

"It's the Lady Melisandre's." Howland Reed argues.

"It's mine now, unless you want to end our agreement over jewelry?" Euron laughs as he snatches the strange, necklace out of Davos' clutches.

Before they let him leave, Davos is robbed of all his gold by the Ironborn as well as his shoes and leathers, leaving him naked except for his small-clothes. Some of the men laughed at him. Davos cursed them all, and wondered how he was ever going to travel through the snow all the way back to Winterfell like this…

* * *

Sansa

The night was dark as snow crashed against the windows. The flame from her candle was nearly at the end of its life, forming a pool of wax around it. Sansa watches it, her mind wandering. She was dressed in a black, lace gown enamored with the Stark wolf. She wore it while she slept because it felt nice and she liked the way she looked in black. _I hope he likes it too._

He was coming to meet her tonight. Sansa had sent her handmaiden for him nearly an hour ago. She was sure he would come… This wasn't the kind of invitation any man would refuse. Sansa made sure to tell her handmaiden to make it sound explicit. It was the only way to be certain. She had gotten herself dressed in the mirror, allowing her red hair to drape down around the left side of her face more. She then parted the neckline of her gown so that her cleavage was on display. As she sat on her bed waiting, she recalled how Ramsay would tell her to make herself look pretty for him when he came for her in the night. Some nights Sansa refused…and some nights she didn't, out of fear of the punishment he lashed out whenever she refused him anything.

There was a knock at the door. Sansa didn't stand. She stared at her door with a blank expression, hesitating as she thought about what she was about to do. "You can come in." She calls softly, glad her voice did not betray the indecision she felt.

Sansa steels herself as the door clicks open.

"My Lady, I must admit I am surprised you've invited me here at the hour of the wolf." Littlefinger says, closing the door behind him.

"I want to make a deal with you." Sansa tells him.

"What sort of deal might this be?" Littlefinger asks with a curios smile.

"You must call off our marriage to Jon. I will not be your wife and you will not be my husband."

"A deal usually works both way, my dear. I don't see my end of this bargain."

"In return…" Sansa pauses and leans back with confidence, smiling herself now, "I will make you King of the Iron Throne."

It was hard to tell if he thought she was serious and just dimwitted or telling him some jest, but Littlefinger's smile only grew as he asks, "My Lady, forgive me but how would you ever manage to accomplish this?"

She beckons for him to join her on the bed. He does so with swiftness, sitting beside her now. She focused her eyes on his as she spoke, "I have information that could potentially remove Jon from power. If Jon is no longer King then I am next in line to rule Winterfell."

"As well as the one you marry." Littlefinger reminds her.

"You won't gain anything from marrying me as long as Jon is King." Sansa tells him, "If I am Queen, however, I will take our forces south, take King's Landing, remove Cersei's head, and name you King the same way Robert took the throne. They would call you usurper, but you would be the rightful King and I would be your Warden in the North. It's not your perfect picture, but it's better than dying three months from now here in Winterfell when all of our people should be in the south."

"There's still one thing I need before I can even consider this deal, the information."

 _I have to tell him or he won't believe me._ "Jon is not a Stark."

Petyr Baelish chuckles, though his eyes seemed to study her like a hawk. "He is a Snow, this much is obvious, My Lady."

"He is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark."

As the words came out she knew this would be the line Jon would consider crossed if he found out. As King he could have her sentenced to death for this betrayal, but Sansa was sure he wasn't quite that cruel. He was no Joffrey or Ramsay, but he ultimately betrayed her just like the rest of them. _Never again._

To her shock, he says, "Ah, so you finally found out."

"What?" Her mask of confidence slips for a second, "You knew?"

He only smirks, "Who do you think I am?"

"How?" _Jon and I only know because Bran saw it in some weird vision_ , she almost said but decides it best not to let Littlefinger know this particular detail.

"I've known for a long time. To be honest I'm surprised not many have realized it by now. Seems such an obvious thing, as things tend to seem in hindsight." Littlefinger says, though Sansa notices he avoids her question. She also realizes that he could have outed Jon at any time. _But then he wouldn't be able to ask him to marry me…_

"If you had proof of this, then I would be happy to make a deal. But I'm afraid there simply isn't any evidence…" Littlefinger sighs.

"Howland Reed." Sansa says, "He was there the day Jon was born. He knows the truth. When Bran goes to Greywater Watch and has Howland pledge fealty we can prove it then. Bran can have him come back to Winterfell and give his witness to our testimony."

For the first time Littlefinger appeared to be impressed. "Convincing the other lords that Jon is a Targaryen and not Eddard Stark's son will be no easy task, My Lady. I must decline, but say thank you for the generous offer."

"There's more." Sansa says, reaching out and taking his hand gently with her own. She could feel his pulse quicken at her touch and saw his smile flicker, his eyes searching her own. "I know what you really want, Petyr, what you've always wanted…" She guides his hand up to the collar of her gown. "You've wanted the Iron Throne for so long and you've worked so hard to get it, let me help you." His fingers begin to pull her clothing down, revealing her shoulders. Littlefinger's expression was impossible to read, he only watches her remove her top, divulging her breasts to him. She leaned in closer and smiles when he doesn't pull away.

His kiss is fierce and overpowering. She closes her eyes and allows him to breach her mouth with his tongue _. It's working_ , she thinks as she climbs over him, undoing the breaches of his pants. Before she begins, she stares deeply into his eyes and asks, "Do we have a deal?"

"I'll call the marriage off at once, Your Grace." Littlefinger replies as the candle goes out and Sansa is cloaked by darkness.

* * *

Bran

The Godswood was just as he remembered it. The large, white weirwood tree over the pond was now barren of all leaf from the winter. Meera and Jon helped him over to it so that he could rest in its groove, remembering how Maester Luwin had died here long ago…

"Bran." Jon says, "You know you don't have to go with them to see Howland Reed. I know you want to learn more about my father and what it all means but it's not safe out there. You might not be able to come back if the winter snows get too high."

"I didn't need to go beyond The Wall either. But I did because it's what I'm supposed to do, Jon. Please, trust me." He smiles, "Before I leave I want to see what else I can learn from here."

Jon nods, smiling grimly like he usually did. Bran was going to miss him. He'd only just gotten back…

Bran turned his attention to the tree. Taking a deep breath, he prepared his mind for what was to come. Reaching out, his finger grazed the roots of its trunk and grasped onto it firmly. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and Bran traveled far away…

A great fire was raging over the tops of homes. Dead bodies were in the streets. Screams all around him. A dark shadow slithers across the ground and he sees a great, winged beast soar overhead. "Burn them all!" The Mad King screams from the Iron Throne as a man pushes a sword through his back. Bran is pushed from a tower by a man he faintly recognizes to be the same man who kills the Mad King. A baby is crying as a great tower collapses into the ocean. A man with white hair gives a crown of blue winter roses to a woman in the audience after winning a tournament. Both are smiling at each other, ignoring the other people's outrage, clearly in love. A boy is crying under a tree while another boy approaches. Both of them are small. One boy comforts the other, whispering words in his ear. A woman with fiery red hair is being whipped by a brown man with a long beard. Two men in armor fight each other in the snow. One is a giant, his face hidden under a golden helm. The other is almost as big, with half a face and a sword on fire in his hands. They charge each other as the crowd around them roars and cheers. A woman with silver hair flies on a black dragon over a sea of men fighting each other. There are hundreds of thousands of them, and when the dragon opens its mouth, they all burn away.

Bran is in the crypts under Winterfell. The darkness seems to be alive as the torches on the walls all die out. He sees Jon walking into the darkness ahead. He races for him, trying to reach out and grab him… But Jon disappears… Bran is engulfed in darkness… until one by one, blue eyes open up, encircling him. They get closer and closer and no matter where he looks, there they are. His breathing becomes ragged and his skin grows cold. _No, get away from me! Get away! Get away!_

A door appears. Bran flees as fast as he can for it. The door is as round as the moon and made of glass. It shatters as he crashes through, and Bran is met with a raging hot fire.

"Bran!"

Reality returned as Bran gasps for air. He is covered in sweat and his eyes leaked tears. The mark around his wrist was burning painfully. Both Jon and Meera were watching him in horror. "You were screaming for it to stop. I tried to pry your hand off but it wouldn't let go." Jon tells him.

Bran reaches out and grabs his brother's hand. "They're coming."

* * *

The 999th Lord Commander

When the horn blew for the first time, Dolorous Ed was riding the elevator up to the top of the Wall. As always, whenever the horn blew it sent ice through his veins. _One blast is rangers returning… but we don't have any rangers…_

The horn blew again. _Wildlings?_ _All the Wildlings are on our side of The Wall now and I don't see any up here._

The dawning realization came with the third blast of the horn.

_White Walkers approaching._

A deep, rumbling growl shook The Wall and the whole elevator Dolorous Ed was in violently trembled and groaned. "Oh God, don't let me die in here." He muttered to himself, grabbing a hold of the wooden beams to keep himself from falling. The Wall was have another quake, only this one kept growing and growing. He heard men down in Castle Black screaming and pointing up. Ed knew he'd hate what he saw, but he looked up anyway.

Large chunks of The Wall were breaking off and tumbling down into the snowy banks below. To his left and to his right, long fissures bolted their way along the ice. "What the blood hell is going on?"

The crack that had first appeared the day Bran went through had grown several limbs, one of which snaked its way underneath the elevator's path. It traveled slowly down toward Castle Black and came to a rest, but just as it did the ice beside him fell away and the elevator threatened to fall with it. Large chunks of ice the size of houses came crashing down into Castle Black. Dolorous Ed closes his eyes as his brother's screams are silenced. _Let me get to the top, just let me get to the fucking top_. The one thing he had feared coming here was falling from The Wall and he was determined not to die trapped in an elevator falling to his death. _Just let me live, just let me live, just let me live…_

When the elevator came to a stop, Dolorous Ed opened his eyes expecting and that he'd broken down and to be facing The Wall's cold surface still… Instead he saw the trenches dug into the top of The Wall where a single Nights Watchman wrought the horn. The Lord Commander approaches the edge of The Wall slowly, facing the north and what lied beyond.

The sky was blacker than he'd ever seen it. It was midday, yet night was gathering over the snowy mountains, a shadow in the air so unreal Dolorous Ed was convinced he wasn't seeing straight. Everything under the shadow was impossible to behold. While the horn blew three more times behind him, Ed knew the time had come. They weren't ready for it, but The Long Night was here. He turned, telling the man blowing the horn to mount the elevator with him to go back down and inform their brothers… as soon as the last words left his mouth the elevator relieved a long groan as if in pain and Dolorous Ed heard it snap down below somewhere. He could only stand from the top of The Wall and watch as the entire elevator came teetering down over Castle Black. It crashed with the earth, no doubt killing another brother or two of his.

The cold winter wind blew his hair around his face. Dolorous Ed, Lord Commander of The Wall, looked to the horn blower and says,

"Well… fuck."


	5. Hear Me Roar

**Episode Five**

**Hear Me Roar**

* * *

Theon

Theon wondered how someone as little and insignificant as himself could be standing here watching something like this. It almost felt a cruel joke that Theon Greyjoy, after everything he's been through, would be standing on a ship of his own, surrounded by men who obeyed his commands, watching dragons burn his enemies into the water.

When he first saw Daenerys return with her black dragon and command everyone to prepare for battle, Theon was doing his best to ignore Ramsay's voice in the back of his thoughts as always. _Reek, what do you think you're doing? Get that armor off and go hide. You're no soldier._

 _You're wrong_ , Theon told the voice. _This is my chance, this is my redemption! I'm not Reek anymore. I'm Theon Greyjoy! I will bring back honor to my family name, here and now, and kill my uncle myself if I have to, or I will die trying!_

" _WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!"_ Theon blurted out, shoving his sword up in the air and roaring at the oncoming fleet. The skies were filled with echoing yells and battle cries. Theon's spirit had caused an uproar from his crew, each of them drawing their blades and screaming wildly at their enemies. As the ships drew nearer each other, Theon knew this would be his moment.

Then he felt a powerful gust of wind overhead.

Before any ship could attack, three dragons descended upon Victarion's army raining fire down on every ship they soared over. Theon heard the pirate's screams of agony from here, and could see the burning men try to dive into the sea and save themselves. The flames caught the sails, tearing them down as the base of the ships were torn asunder. The dragons were unmerciful. Their streams of fire flowed endlessly over everything they passed until the largest, Drogon, swooped around and his siblings followed. They began again, flying back toward Theon. Every ship that touched their shadow burned.

Theon thought it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. It was like staring into the Seven Hells itself, and feeling no fear because the Devil was on his side.

That was then. After it was over, Theon realized this was no battle at all. This was a slaughter. Every ship in sight was on fire and sinking. Most of their inhabitants were with the sea now. Theon saw one man dancing aboard his deck on fire, tripping and falling into a broken mast and slicing his face apart. He saw a man up in the crow's nest, surrounded by flames, try and make a leap for the water before he was overtaken—but landed instead on the railing, breaking his legs and rolling into the shimmering flames. The dragon's cries of triumph was something Theon would remember until the end of his days.

_That was quite a victory. Great honor. Well done, Reek._

* * *

Tyrion

" _Mercy! Your Grace! Please! Mercy! Mercy! Please have mercy, Mother of Dragons! Mercy! We will do anything for you! I never wanted to be here! We are yours to command! Please, Your Grace! Mercy!"_

The remaining pirates were lined up aboard the last of their ships while the rest all burned and sunk into the smoking sea around them. Drogon hovered over them all, flapping his mighty wings as Daenerys listened to their pleas on his back. Tyrion was behind her, having watched from above as they took care of Victarion's army with ease. Now he was watching the pirates. There were a hundred or so in all. Their screams mixed together in a desperate orchestra of pleas.

"We could use them to invade King's Landing as fodder." Tyrion says in her ear, "However that would mean trusting them not to rape and plunder… They will be a problem in the end."

"Then I will not spare them." Dany says, and Tyrion witnesses a deadly fire in her eyes, before she cries, _"Dracarys!"_

When it's over and the last scream dies, Daenerys flies them back to the Red Wind and the rest of her fleet, entirely untouched by the enemy. They were met with a swell of cheers as Drogon lands aboard her flagship and roars with triumph, the other two dragons circling above them and breathing fire into the sky. Tyrion carefully slid off the black beast's spine, landing on all fours rougher than he would've like beside its hind leg. Greyworm came and helped him up while Daenerys dismounted gracefully, bidding Drogon farewell before it rocked the ship and took flight.

"Your Grace, that was spectacular. An astonishingly swift defeat!" Varys says, rushing in to praise her. "Truly, I have never seen such—"

"Thank you, Lord Varys." Daenerys interrupts him, slipping past him and Tyrion over to where Jorah Mormont stood, nearly naked except for his singed small-clothes. His infected arm still gave Tyrion pause whenever he saw it, and he nearly cried to Dany when she reached out and took his blackened hand in her own. "Does it hurt?"

"Not at all." He tells her, "It feels… strange."

"Come with me. Now." She commands him, and guides him down into her cabin. Tyrion watched them leave with a frown, noticing Jorah's eager smile before they disappeared.

"It appears war has given our Queen a lust for other needs." Varys comments with a sigh, "Understandable really. Though I never would've thought to see Jorah the Andal alive again."

"She shouldn't be doing that. We went through this already with Daario." Tyrion says.

"Is your concern a political one or a personal one?" Varys asks in his sing-song voice.

"I don't like what you're implying." Tyrion growls, "If she's going to be Queen of Westeros she can't have a paramour or the people will not take her seriously."

"They will take her dragons seriously, however, and perhaps that is enough. Kings have had many mistresses in the past. Why should this one be any different?"

"A Queen is not a King. Women are judged differently from men." Tyrion says and Varys casts him a look. "What? It's not right but that doesn't make it untrue. The people will mock her, and when the time comes to be married—"

"Plenty of suitors will line up, I'm sure. Your worry for our Queen might be more misplaced then you realize, my friend."

"I just watched her burn four thousand men alive. I have a right to be worried."

"She is not the Mad King."

"But she is his daughter. You know what they say about Targaryens."

"I would be more worried about Jorah Mormont, if I were you." Varys says, and he turns around to glare at the Red Woman across the deck. She was watching the burning ships sink into the water with a composed expression. Tyrion remembered Varys' feud with her from before but could not stop his friend from calling out to her in time. "What magic did you use to cure his arm, dare I ask? Or is the Lord of Light's secrets unworthy of me?"

Kinvara faced them with a smile, and Tyrion felt an uneasy, probing sensation.

"It was not magic that cured his greyscale, only the Lord of Light's will." She tells them.

"Call it what you will; shooting fire out of your hands is magic, the kind you hear about in children's stories and old tales from thousands of years ago." Varys tells her, raising his head with confidence. He seemed determined not to be browbeaten by her again. "So how did you do it? Please, I'm _dying_ to know. Is it even truly cured or will he wake up tomorrow morning insane from infection? Enlighten me, dear."

"It's very simple." She says, "To give a man the Lord of Light's will, you must know their body and soul. Some use blood, some use prayer, and some use sex. The act of sex lets a man and a woman know each other more than they know themselves, and with the Lord's power I replaced the disease with a different kind of disease, you could call it; because like a disease, fire spreads."

Tyrion listened with a skeptical ear, not believing half of it. "If sex could cure ailments then by all means, My Lady, fuck me until I'm not a dwarf."

Kinvara giggles, to his shock. "It doesn't work like that, I'm afraid. Though the offer is… tempting." _Tempting is it?_ Tyrion doubted he had the balls to go to bed with such an intimidating woman. Something about her rubbed him the wrong way. "The Lord chose Jorah to be his champion, I only obeyed his will."

"Such magic comes at a cost. It always does." Varys tells her sourly.

"You're right, Lord Varys." Kinvara says, her smiling unflinching, "He paid his arm for it."

"What else?" Tyrion persists. "Tell me."

The High Priestess looked again to the burning ships in the ocean and says, "Jorah owes the Lord a debt for his life, and only death can pay for life."

* * *

Daenerys

Jorah's blackened, cracked fingers touched her in a way Dany had never been touched before, spreading a sensual warmth up her loins and spine, giving her a spasm as she climaxed again under his deft precision, her whole body wriggling under his. She cries his name as he fondles her breast and leaves kisses down her neck, his fingers tirelessly thrusting in and out of her in a fluid motion. "You've done this before." She whispers with pleasure.

"Not for many years, and never with a woman like you." He says and she sees tears of joy in his eyes. She clutches his stubbled cheeks and kisses him deeply. When they pull away, he breathes, "I love you, Daenerys. I've always loved you."

"I wish I could tell you the same." She says, "I've always thought of you as my closest friend, my wisest councilor…"

"What changed?" He asks, sounding hopeful.

"I don't know." She admits, smiling, "All I know is I want you, Jorah. I want you at my side. I want to be Queen and I want you to be my King."

"Are you asking me to marry you?" He asks.

She curls her fingers through his hair. "I am."

"Westeros has never served under a King and Queen equally. I'm afraid I would not be accepted as their King, I have no right to the title."

"You will have the right when I am Queen." She assures him, "When I take Westeros I intend on changing some things. A King and a Queen ruling side by side sounds better than just one or the other, doesn't it?"

"Daenerys, you honor me more than you know, but I cannot accept…" Dany's heart sinks in her chest and the pleasure from before was briefly extinguished. "I was never meant to rule. I would serve worthier as your Hand."

"As a King you wouldn't need to serve at all!" Dany tells him heatedly, "You can have everything you've ever wanted!"

"I already do." Jorah says, stroking her face with his undamaged fingers. "You are the one who is meant to rule, not me. If there was a King involved the people would automatically see him as the one that rules, and ignore the Queen entirely. After you've taken the throne, then you can marry; and if you wish to marry me then I will accept, but I will never be King, only your husband…"

She can't help it. She kisses him passionately, needing his body, his warmth… She reaches down with impatient hands and guides him inside of her…

* * *

Jon

The parapets around Winterfell was blanketed in snow as a light blizzard fell from the sky, reminding him of his strolls atop The Wall. Jon was garbed in his black Stark armor, a wolf's pelt draped over his shoulders to keep him warm. His hair was long enough now to release from its bun so that it could blow in the wind, catching snowflakes. Bran's words from earlier were replaying over and over in his head as if some spell had placed them there: _I saw so much, too much, I can't even remember it all. Only pieces of it…_

_Try, Bran. Please._

_I saw a dragon. I saw it over a field of snow and men fighting each other. I saw so much death, Jon… and I saw you. You were down in the crypts. You were alone, and before I could get to you, you disappeared into the dark._

After that, Meera had taken Bran to calm down in his room while Jon went for a walk, thinking about dragons, Bran's visions, and The Wall… _If it falls it would take the White Walkers a couple of weeks to reach us... But with over 5,000 men going to defend it maybe it will hold… Or it will only add to their army of the dead._

Reaching for the stone, Jon leaned against the wall and looked down over its edge. Hundreds of the Free Folk were herding through the gates bearing whatever they could carry. Most were women and children; not many wildling men had survived the battle with the Boltons. Jon had ordered his men to help, and was told Winterfell would be at its maximum occupancy after this. Jon had told Sansa they had enough rations to last three months… Realistically they had one.

 _We can't survive here. If the long night comes we won't survive._ Jon closed his eyes and sighed. There was still no word from Queen Cersei. If she accepted his invitation up here, she would likely end up wintered here like the rest of them. _She won't come._ _I was a fool to think she would._ He'd told the other lords if this happened he would show her no mercy. It was time to live up to those words. _If we won't survive in Winterfell then we will go south. If Cersei will not have peace then we will take her capital by force…_

Even as he planned it out, Jon felt wearier than ever. _But_ _I can't go to war with the south. If we do that we will only weaken ourselves for the real battle…_ Jon wished Davos was here so he could have someone to talk to about this. Bran was still too young to understand, Tormund hardly comprehended battle strategies, and Sansa…

His sister appeared on the other end of the parapets, her red hair bright amidst the falling snow. Neither said a word of greeting. Jon frowned and looked back down over the edge, waiting for her to come closer. Eventually he heard her footfalls crunch in the snow until they were beside him. "Lord Baelish has called off the wedding." Jon says.

Sansa didn't respond. He could feel her eyes watching him, however, so he went on, "He claimed seeing you safe in your home was more than a reward and told me he felt guilty about arranging things against your will. He even told me to apologize to you on his behalf for putting you through all of this."

"Good." is all she says.

Jon turns his frown toward her now, "You once told me only a fool trusts Littlefinger… Sansa, please, tell me… did you do this?"

"I don't know what you're implying."

Jon sighs, "He was seen going up to your tower last night."

"From who?" Sansa asks angrily.

"Does it matter?" Jon could see he'd caught her, it was written all over her face. "What did you give him in return for this?"

Sansa's cheeks were red and Jon doubted it was from the cold. "I slept with him. Is that what you want to hear? I fucked him so I wouldn't have to marry him. It worked. Now tell me who you have spying on me. Is it my handmaiden?"

"I can't believe you, Sansa!" Jon yells, "What would father think if he knew?!"

"Father is dead." She spoke coldly and calmly, never looking away from him. "I was there when his head came off, remember? He's dead so it doesn't matter what he thinks anymore."

"You shame him, just like that? You shame yourself, for what?"

"How many times have _you_ been married off like a piece of prized meat?" Sansa asks acidly, "I did what I had to, maybe it's time you start."

"What would you have me do, Sansa?!" Jon asks, raising his voice over the wind and not caring who below could hear him.

"Take the throne for yourself." Sansa says, "You are a Targaryen by right and I would support your claim. Take the throne, let me execute the Mad Queen myself and make me Queen of the North while you rule in the South."

Jon shook his head, laughing. "You think I want to be King of the Seven Kingdoms? I can barely handle being King of the North, and if the other lords knew I was Targaryen they would have my head."

"Then step down and make me Queen of the North. I will lead us if you don't want to do it."

"You know Bran is next in line to rule after me."

"Bran is a cripple. The North will never fight for a cripple." Sansa tells him.

"You think they'd fight for a woman?" He asks.

"They would fight for a Stark who is willing to go to war when she needs to."

Jon smiles at her, feeling a strange pride in his sister. "You're starting to sound like Arya, y'know."

Sansa blinked, apparently unprepared for that as she smiled against her will. "Arya isn't here, but she would tell you the same thing. If you don't want to rule, then don't. You never asked to be king. Step down and make me the Queen."

For a moment, Jon truly considered it. It would be a huge relief to dump his responsibilities and forget about everything. "I can't." He tells her and regrets saying it, for the hope in Sansa's eyes diminished "I have to try and make peace. We need them on our side, not fighting us."

Sansa turned away from him, facing the sky. She looked sad, and Jon could tell there was more on her mind than she was letting on, but did not prod her. "I'm sorry I judged you right away like that." He tells her, "I don't blame you for what you did. I love you, Sansa. I need _you_ on my side more than anyone. Can we move on from this? Please?"

Sansa smiles and allows Jon to hug her. "Yes." She says softly, "I can move on from this."

* * *

The Hound

They'd given him armor and a proper longsword, as well as a horse that appeared weathered yet strong. Once he was packed, The Hound made his way down to the courtyard where Tormund Giantsbane and the two little ones were waiting for him, surrounded by about a hundred small-folk and soldiers all seeing them off. The blizzard had settled but the wind was still sharp and ice-cold. The Hound sneezed out a fat booger in front of them all before joining Tormund at his side.

"Didn't think you'd show." The wild, red haired man said in a deep growl.

"Thought _you'd_ be gone already." Sandor says back with a sneer.

"I would've, but I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"I'm fucking touched."

"If the both of you are going to be like that the whole way we'll find someone else to take us." Meera scolded them. Despite her size, both giant men were cowed by her.

Jon Snow appeared, along with Lady Sansa. The Hound froze when he saw her. _Little Bird has grown up_ , he thinks to himself, studying her face and noticing her eyes were on him as well. _What does she look so damn guilty for?_

"We've come to say farewell." Jon tells them, looking down at Bran with a sad smile.

Sansa swooped down and hugged her little brother, whispering him a goodbye. The Hound looked away, feeling as though he was intruding, and instead reflected on the last time he'd visited Winterfell so many years ago back when he was Prince Joffrey's dog. _Wasn't so snowy back then_ , he mused, scratching his chin while the King in the North gave Bran a hug as well.

To his immense surprise, Sansa approached him next. For a moment they only just looked at each other, until she stood on her toes and kissed his hairy cheek, her hands grasping his armored shoulders for balance. Sandor felt his blush burn his face, and backed off from her once she was done, glaring at her. "No need for kisses." He says.

"I just wanted to give you something…" Sansa tells him earnestly, "You've done so much for me already. I would knight you myself if I were a Queen."

"Don't want to be a knight, remember." Sandor snarls, "I've got nothing better to do and this way I have a place to stay for the winter that isn't The Wall."

"You'd be free to stay here even if you didn't agree to do this, and you know it." Sansa tells him, "I am in your debt, Sandor Clegane."

"Fine, if it'll make you feel better." She smiles at him and he gives her a half smile back. "Stay safe, Little Bird."

"I'm not a little bird anymore." She tells him.

"Aye. You're not." He agrees.

"Farewell and stay safe."

Sandor turned to Jon and said, "You take care of this one, you hear?"

"I will." Jon promises, "Keep my brother safe. Whatever it takes." He looks down at Bran and continues, "When you meet Howland Reed tell him to come to Winterfell. I will send him a raven myself to let him know ahead of time you're coming. I will explain to him, and every northern lord, that I am calling a summit for the North's next move. Even the Brotherhood without Banners is invited if they claim to support me as you say, Clegane."

The Hound nods. Before they leave, Sandor hears Bran whisper something to the King that brings his face to fear. _What could the little lord say to make the king piss his pants?_ The Hound wondered, though it was ultimately none of his business and pushed it from his mind.

* * *

Brienne

In the dead of night, a light woke Brienne from her slumber. She grumbled, winced, and saw Howland Reed standing over her pit with several other Crannogmen holding a torch. "Help her out." She hears, and they lower a vine for her to climb up with. She struggles at it, both of her hands torn asunder from wrestling the lizard-lions every day. She'd lost track of how many times she'd won. It was becoming the highlight of her day. The problem was her hands and the wound on her arm. Both felt as though infection had settled in. When she was finally out on flat, solid earth, she was forced to her feet with both her hands shoved up painfully behind her back. She felt a cool blade slide across her throat and rest there, and she knew this was the end.

"Run out of lizards for me to fight?" She seethed at them defiantly, "Done with me now? Fine. Let it end."

"Not yet, I think." Howland Reed says, "Not unless you force us to. Tell me, Lady Brienne, how would you like to walk out of here tomorrow, free of all charges?"

"I want my sword back." She says through gritted teeth, the pulse in her neck pounding against the blade's edge.

Howland Reed shook his head. "You're in no position to bargain. The sword belongs to another now."

A part of her died at these words… and all her defiance puddled in her heart. _Oathkeeper… No… I'm a failure… I'm sorry Jaime._

"What do you want from me?" She asks weakly, staring down at the mud in defeat.

"I need a woman, not a warrior." Howland tells her.

"You have a woman."

"She is not fit for this duty anymore…" Howland frowns. Brienne's curiosity spikes at this, but Howland continues, "How about we continue this discussion somewhere inside the keep? Come. Let her go, men. If she tries anything she knows what will happen."

 _Do I?_ Brienne eyed the three men around her and wondered if she could take them. Howland was small and frail, not a challenge in combat. These men were equally weak-looking and small, though their spears and daggers posed more of a threat than Brienne's infected hands. _I can't fight them… I have to go along with this and see what he wants…_

When Brienne was showed into the giant tower that was Greywater Watch, Brienne never thought she'd find herself surrounded by three tall, white weirwood trees, each with faces bearing down at her with bleeding eyes… The rock walls that structured the tower was lined with tangled vines and moss that helped blend it in with the huge trees outside. She looked behind her out the two stone doors and saw only dense fog. _Nobody can find this place… I'm completely alone out here…_

Howland Reed led her up a flight of rocky steps to the second level of the tower where a fire was burning in the hearth sending a column of smoke up through a chimney. Sitting beside it was a bundled heap of red robes with a head of white hair poking out from it. _An old woman?_ Brienne wondered, curious if it was Howland's wife…

"The Lady Melisandre." Howland tells her, as if he read her mind. Brienne's jaw dropped as the old woman turned and she saw a creature unlike anything Brienne had seen before. It was more of a witch than an old woman, with skin hanging from her bones, her hair in strings, and one eye that was larger and twitchier than the other.

"I… I don't understand." Brienne stammers.

"This is her true form." Howland says with a heavy sigh, "I suspected as much when I saw her necklace. It was the same with the priestess that cured my greyscale…"

"What happened?" Brienne asks, scared to approach her.

"Our new king purchased it from her as part of the payment to our agreement."

"He stole it." The old hag moaned, beside herself with misery as the flames danced and cast shadows across her ugly face.

"She hasn't left the fire since. I suspect she won't last long without her necklace."

Brienne feels a swell of satisfaction seeing the Red Woman like this. "Serves her right."

Howland glares at her with menace. "King Euron will never take her now. My plan has come to an unexpected halt and I find myself in need of a woman like you."

"You have lots of women here. Use one of them." Brienne spits at him.

"The King will not accept any of my women. He has standards, unfortunately. You are the closest I have to what I need." Howland approaches her, forcing her to look into the deep, dry cracks that scarred his face. "Infiltrate Euron's camp as a whore. Tell him you're willing to do anything. When you have the chance give him this." He reveals a flask of silver liquid between mutated fingers. "Bring him back to us alive, and you will go free as promised."

"You expect me to do something so dishonorable and hateful?!" Brienne reproaches with horror, "You're just as bad as Melisandre and Stannis! Using tricks to win battles."

Howland seems annoyed with her when he says, "You can either accept this deal or go back to that pit and keep fighting lizard-lions until the end of your days. Trust me, there's always more."

"Do you really think Euron would take a woman like me into his bed?! Look at me!" She shows her hands to him, and her wounded arm. "I look like I just escaped a torture chamber and you think he'll want to lay with me?!"

"You'll be surprised. Something tells me he has peculiar standards. He's renowned for beating his saltwives into submission. Scars and blood won't bother the likes of his kind."

"It won't work!" Brienne shouts at him, "Look at me! Look at my face! Do you know what men like him call me? Brienne the Beauty! The ugliest woman alive…"

Howland shakes his head, smirking at her. "Do you think I don't know what that's like? Look at _my_ face, Brienne. You have more beauty to you than you realize. You're also a very big woman. My feeling is King Euron will see you as more of a challenge, which will give you the opportunity. Knock him out with this, tie him up, and in the night bring him back to us without alerting his men. Once you've brought him out of their camp, my men will be waiting for you."

"No, I can't. No way." Brienne refuses, glaring him down, "I will not betray my honor just to escape. Find another way."

"Is it because you're still a virgin?" Howland asks curiously and she gawks at him. "My apologies, I only presume."

"That has nothing to do with it!" She snaps, "I will not do this."

Howland's eyes study her, searching for some answer she would not give him. "If that is your answer then fine. But consider this, Sansa Stark is alone in Winterfell without anyone there to protect her. What happens when Queen Cersei decides she wants Sansa's head on her walls?"

Brienne thought about his words and imagined Sansa being taken away… "Jon will protect her."

"Jon Targaryen will betray her the first chance he gets." Howland's voice trembles with righteous anger as he says this, and Brienne is reminded once again of his hatred toward the Targaryens… "Word is he wants to make peace with the Mad Queen. What will happen when Sansa's head is the cost of that peace? Do you want to spend the rest of your days in a pit full of your own shit and blood? Or do you want to be by your Lady's side when she needs you?"

 _Sansa… What should I do_? Brienne felt her heart being torn apart as she tried to decide. "I won't sleep with him…" She says slowly.

"You won't have to if you're good. Just give him this and he will be asleep quickly enough. Wait until his guards are distracted and escape with him. You must bring the necklace he stole from the Lady Melisandre, as well. The necklace and Euron himself…"

She couldn't believe she was agreeing to this. _My honor will forever have this stain if I agree…_ She wondered if this is how Jaime felt before stabbing the Mad King in the back, and remembered him asking her once; _what would you do if you had to choose between your oath and your family?_ Sansa was her family now…

_I swore to protect her until my last day…_

"Fine." She grimaces, disgusted with herself, "I'll do it."

* * *

Jaime

The farther north he traveled the colder the winds became. As he drew in upon the Twins of House Frey he saw snow falling over the bridge and river, covering the other side in a white powder while the southern side remained green and dry. _I've never seen such a stark difference in weather before… Winter is coming for King's Landing…_

Jaime debated traveling the Kingsroad to Winterfell, but the Queen had demanded he inform the Freys to guard the south from northern invaders at all cost… _Even now, hundreds of miles away, I'm still her bloody puppet…_

Just to rub it in his face, Bronn's head had been placed on a spike above the city gates before he exited King's Landing. It was the only head up there, and it had been put there specifically to remind Jaime… Now he was alone, and more vulnerable than he'd ever felt before. Bronn had been more than just his friend, he was the man he counted on when it came to a fight. In Dorne, Jaime would have died if not for Bronn. In Riverrun, Jaime truthfully didn't have need for him in the end but having him at his side throughout it all made the whole thing a lot more tolerable. Now he was on a mission to essentially slay another King and the one person he could look to was gone…

A strong, foul smell met his nose and Jaime winced. Even his horse whinnied in protest, slowing down to a trot the closer they drew to the Twins. Up ahead Jaime saw a column of smoke rising into the sky beside the river. Voices could be heard chanting as well… Jaime stopped as he came within sight of the giant pile of bodies, burning in a great fire, as men surrounding it all cried in unison, " _The night is dark and full of terrors_!"

 _What the hell is going on?_ Several of them see him on his horse approaching and suddenly everyone around the burning bodies is drawing their swords. He sees a man with an eyepatch he vaguely recognizes approach with another Jaime definitely recognizes.

"Kingslayer. To what do we owe the pleasure?" Asks the one with the eye patch. He looked tired and uninviting. Jaime suddenly remembered.

"Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr." Jaime greets with narrowed eyes, "The Twins belong to the Freys and the Freys are allies of House Lannister."

"The Freys are dead." Thoros says with a smirk.

"You killed them?"

"Aye." Beric says, "The Twins belong to the Brotherhood without Banners now, hence they belong to the King of the North, not the Mad Queen of the South."

Jaime smiles sardonically and says, "Fine. The Freys were a stain on society anyway. I have no use for them or this bridge."

"Some would say your sister is the stain on society, Kingslayer. Why have you come here… all alone?" Thoros asks curiously.

"Just passing through to visit your King on the Queen's behalf." Jaime tells him, "I come alone because bringing an army is an act of war. I bring terms of peace."

Beric and Thoros cast disbelieving looks at each other and Jaime gets an uncomfortable feeling they weren't going to make this easy on him. _I should've kept to the Kingsroad._

"I find it hard to believe you come with terms of peace." Beric admits, "Your sister's reputation has spread almost as quickly as the wildfire she used to usurp the throne."

"She was the King's mother. There was no usurping of any nature, I assure you." Jaime tells him.

Thoros chuckles. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, mate."

"I don't much care what you people believe right now." Jaime snaps, his rage bubbling to the surface. Perhaps it was pent up aggression toward Cersei, but Jaime felt he could no longer put up with any more of this bullshit. "I have important business in Winterfell and if you won't let me pass I'll just go around."

As Jaime began to turn he found himself facing a man with a bow and arrow pointed at him and his horse from the distance.

"Anguy never misses unless it's on purpose." Beric warns him, "I wouldn't make any sudden moves if I were you, Kingslayer. You've made a grave mistake coming here alone."

"Have I?" Jaime frowns, "You do realize I am the Queen's brother and if any harm were to come to me you would have 40,000 Lannister soldiers breathing down your neck from both sides of your little bridge within the week, so how about we negotiate?"

"First, dismount your horse. We'll be taking her for the time being." Beric says and Jaime submits, landing on his feet and glaring at the men who take his horse away. "Help me understand something, Kingslayer. Who was truly behind the Red Wedding? Walder Frey was a vile, scheming, old man but he was not smart enough to plan something like that. It was your father, was it not?"

"Whether it was or wasn't, I had nothing to do with it." Jaime snarls.

"The sins of the father are not the sins of the son, this is true." Beric admits, nodding, "However, you've committed a great many other crimes, haven't you?"

"What about your crimes?" Jaime asks, "Brotherhood without banners… Sounds more like a group of thieves and bandits to me, worshiping some fire god. What right do you have to judge my past, Dondarrion?"

"It is the Lord of the Light who will be passing judgement down, not I." Beric says, "For your crimes against the North and the House Stark I hereby sentence you, Jaime Lannister, to trial by combat."

 _Brilliant._ "Listen to me, my sister would have the South and the North at each other's throats right now and I'm the only one in King's fucking Landing that wants to try and stop her! You have to let me through!"

"You may leave free of all charges once the Lord has passed his judgement down." Beric tells him dismissively, "You are known as kingslayer for pushing your sword through the Mad King's back. You never received a trial for it, because King Robert pardoned you."

"The only crime I committed that day was not killing him sooner." Jaime seethes, "A King pardoned me which means there is no need for this!"

"A King is not a God. You've fought against Eddard and Robb Stark, you've murdered your cousin, you've allied yourself with the Freys, and you took Riverrun from the Tullys. These are all crimes that must be answered for." Beric tells.

Jaime gathered there was little hope of convincing him otherwise, and decided to go a different route. "May I have a handicap then?" He asks, lifting up his golden hand, "As you can see, I'm at a bit of a disadvantage."

"Aren't you supposed to be a legendary fighter?" Thoros teases.

"Try losing a hand and see how easy it is."

"I am a man of honor." Beric says, "I will fight you with one hand tied behind my back. Will that suit you?"

"Suits me fine, though I'm surprised you would fight me yourself, Dondarrion. Aren't you getting a little old?"

"I might surprise you."

"As a man of honor I expect we won't be fighting in the middle of the night like animals? How about you let me stay the night. Allow me a last meal and rest so that we can both fight our best in the morning?" Jaime suggests.

"I wouldn't trust him." Thoros mutters to Beric, smirking.

"I don't. But he makes reasonable requests and there is no immediate need. The men are hungry and so am I. You're welcome to dine with us tonight, Kingslayer, but in the morning your trial commences."

"Splendid." Jaime sighs. _Damn you, Cersei._

* * *

Gilly

_Sam Jr. hasn't eaten today… What am I going to do?_

The winding roads of Oldtown were confusing, even after living on them for several weeks. Hey seemed to go everywhere and nowhere, intersecting and spiraling around in circles so that by the end of the day she'd hardly walked as far as she thought. Her clothes she'd gotten from Sam's mother were torn and dirty now, smelling of rain and sweat. She hadn't washed since the innkeeper kicked them out. Sam Jr. smelled even worse. He cried most of the day, annoying everyone who walked by, while garnishing sympathy from others. She made her living on the corner by an apothecary, begging anyone she could for gold or food. When the days turned into afternoons she would go for a walk with her baby, asking around random small business such as taverns or markets if they had need of a worker. All answered her the same: No Children.

Gilly found her way into the Red Light District of the city, down near the wharfs. Other homeless men and women were usually here, and Gilly had made a few friends who helped keep her baby warm at night by their fire. Today, they were nowhere to be seen, and the pit they used to make their fire was just a black stain amidst a pile of rocks and twigs. Gilly kept looking, eventually finding a large building she'd passed by a couple of times before but never investigated… It was _The Hog's Wash_ , a whore house.

The women on duty gave her dirty looks as she wandered through the curtains. The walls and ceiling was covered in red, embroidered draping. It felt comfortable in here, despite its reputation. Gilly made her way to the front desk where a tall, elderly woman sat reading a book. "Excuse me?" Gilly spoke.

The woman gives her a sharp stare and smiles. "What have we here?" She stood up and bent over, revealing her cleavage as she examined Baby Sam. "What is this filthy urchin doing in here?"

"Don't talk about my baby that way!" Gilly warns her.

"Children are not supposed to be here. You have to leave, I'm afraid."

Another women appeared then, this one younger and far more beautiful, with a blue streak in her hair and black mascara that circled her eyes. She smiles seductively at her and says "Malyra can be such a bitch. Come inside, darling."

"Are you the headmistress?" Gilly asks unsurely.

"I am, though that's not what they really call me here." She laughs dryly as she shows Gilly through the archway. The woman with the book scowled as they passed.

Once inside the long, red corridor, Gilly could hear a lot of loud moans and grunts coming from multiple rooms. Gilly clutched her son to her chest to try and block out the noise, a trembling fear seizing control of her the deeper she went. _I shouldn't be here. Sam wouldn't like this…_

"What's his name?"

"Little Sam."

"How old?"

"Two."

"He's a beauty." The mistress smiles and Gilly sees she's missing a tooth. "What's your name?"

"Gilly…What's yours?"

"You can call me Mhysa. It means Mother, for I am the mother of all these girls. They come to me when they have a problem, and I fix it…" She led her into a private chamber where a naked girl was already on a bed waiting for them. "Now you have come to me with a problem, and I might be able to fix it. Tell me, Gilly, have you ever done this sort of work before?"

"No… But my father…"

Mhysa raised a finger to silence her before she could go on. "I don't want to know about your troubled past with your Daddy. Half the girls here have fathers that raped them, so your story isn't anything I haven't heard before, please spare me. Do you know how to do this work, is what I'm asking you."

"I know how to do it." Gilly gulps.

"Are you comfortable being paid with food instead of gold? I don't have money to spare, but there's a roof over your head, food to eat, and one of my girls will always be available to watch your kid with the others."

"Others?"

"You think doing what we do all day makes us barren? Ha!" Mhysa laughs her dry, humorless laugh. "Almost every one of my girls has a babe or two that needs taking care of, that's why they come here in the beginning, just like you are now. We're a family here and we look out for each other, just as long as you do the work that's asked of you." She snaps her fingers at the naked woman on the bed and she gets up, takes Little Sam, and leaves.

"W-Wait!" Gilly calls as Mhysa grabs her cheek and forces her to look into her raccoonish eyes.

"Before my girls start work I inspect their bodies personally, make sure everything is… in working order."

"But Little Sam—" Mhysa's lips plant themselves against hers, forcing a deep kiss. Gilly tries to push away, but the woman's talons were stronger than she expects. She realizes she was being fondled and her clothing was being torn away.

"Relax." She whispers, "Your baby is safe. Join me on the bed. Trust me…"

Gilly is pulled onto the bed, naked, her body a play-thing for this woman to use. Gilly's thoughts are on her baby, her worse fears coming to life in her head as she imagined these women taking him and throwing him into the ocean.

"You're not trying very hard." Mhysa says from down between her legs, "Do you wish to stop?"

"No!" Gilly cries, tears in her eyes. "No, please. I can do this."

 _I need this for the baby! I'm so sorry Sam!_ Gilly closes her eyes and forces herself to moan like she was enjoying it.

* * *

Samwell

_Dear Jon,_

_I have reached Oldtown and they're making me a maester! Gilly and Little Sam are with me too! Well, they're not technically "with me" with me, since the tower won't let them inside and I can't leave until I've earned my first chain. Also, I know you wouldn't want me knowing, but news finally reached us about your coronation—KING OF THE NORTH?! That's incredible, Jon! You're going to hate it! But I can't think of a better man for the job. Does that mean that Edd is in charge of The Wall now? I can't believe I've missed so much already... I write to you now because I've discovered something that I think you ought to know._

Sam pauses, thinking about how he was going to phrase this next part without sounding completely mad…

_There is a woman traveling to Westeros as I sit here writing you this, and this woman has three, giant dragons with her. She controls them, Jon, like they're her children. Her name is Daenerys Targaryen and she's the last of her kind left. I guess she's been in Essos this whole time, but she wasn't sitting around. She has a huge army with her and they're sailing for King's Landing… Please, Jon. These dragons might be the key to stopping the White Walkers! Dragon fire forges Dragonglass, and Dragonglass kills them, so I think a Dragon itself would probably do it even better, don't you think? I know this sounds mad, but you have to trust me, Jon. I wouldn't do this if I wasn't absolutely positive._

_Goodbye and good luck, my friend._

_-Samwell Tarly_

He scribbles his signature into the end of his message before rolling it up and sealing it.

Ever since Sam had taken the Shade of the Evening with Marwyn the Mage, his whole world felt like it had turned upside-down. Every morning he felt sick to his stomach and had to cough a few times to clear his throat before his meals. He vowed never to take the stuff again, it wasn't worth it. Honestly he didn't know how Marwyn could handle it, yet every day he saw him, Marwyn's lips were blue as the sea. Sam still remembered the vision they shared together, and how it had taken a turn for the worse when he saw the white walkers… All had gone dark, and Sam had fallen unconscious. When he awoke he was in the infirmary with Archmaester Archybald and Marwyn the Mage arguing with each other at his bedside.

Archie was not impressed with Sam's venture into the mysterious and strange. He told Marwyn that he put up with a lot of his antics in the past, but enough was enough. "If I ever see you give that stuff to another one of my pupils again you will end up like your brother." Archie warned him, but Marwyn didn't even seem to care.

"I offered it to him. He took it by choice, Archie. I think you're just resentful he's got more balls than you ever did." Marwyn tells him.

It was so strange. The two of them were the best of friends before and now it was like they hated each other. After that Archie told Sam if he ever caught him drinking Evening again he would be excommunicated immediately, no second chances. Sam apologized profusely to the Archmaester and accepted his punishment of cleaning the larders in the tower for a month.

Sam had tried to get Marwyn to explain what they witnessed to him and how it all worked, but the mysterious old mage had dismissed his questions. "You were there, you saw with your own eyes what happened. The fire, Sam. _Fire_!" Was the only hint he gave him _. Of course fire is important, but that doesn't explain how the fire showed us those dragons, unless it really was just a trick of the Evening._

Sam almost decided he wasn't going to send Jon this letter. After-all, how could he trust is strange visions? Yet he wrote it all the same, sealed it, and found himself staring at the raven in the cage, debating whether or not he should do it once again…

 _If I'm wrong and there are no dragons, then I'm the biggest fool there ever was. I might doom us all if I'm wrong._ Sam closed his eyes as the raven squawked at him and took a deep breath. _What if I'm right? What if what I saw was real? If I don't send it I'm the biggest fool there ever was. It truly would doom us all… I can't win... So I might as well do it._

The white raven allowed him to tie the letter to its leg before being picked up and thrown out the window. It took flight, soaring high over Oldtown, up into the clouds, and off to the north…

* * *

Jaime

The dining hall where Jaime had sat with Walder Frey a month ago celebrating their victory over Riverrun, was now a desolated chamber that smelled of dead bodies. Jaime was given a table near the head of the room next to Beric and Thoros, who was pouring wine into his goblet every five minutes. Jaime remembered how Thoros was a mad drunk, and an even madder fighter when he _was_ drunk. After a few cups, Thoros and his distrust for Jaime evaporated like magic and the two began to bond over their old war times together.

"Those Greyjoy shits didn't know what hit them!" Thoros cries, exploding with hysterical laughter as Jaime chuckled along with him, though his smile didn't quite meet his eyes.

"When you charged in there with your flaming sword, Balon's men were pissing in their armor!"

"You're shitting me!"

"I shit you not. I heard it, the sound of water rattling against steel, right before you cut them down!"

Thoros of Myr was the type of man who couldn't contain his laughter, and when he was drunk it was even worse; Jaime brought the man to tears. Just like the old days. Jaime would go drinking with Thoros sometimes when he was a Kingsguard for Robert and Thoros was his Red Priest. Robert himself would join them on occasion, much to Jaime's disdain.

Beric Dondarrion on the other hand was sober and eating somberly as he listened to them jest. Jaime hardly knew the man, only by reputation as the once loyal warrior who ran his little bandit gang. _I could probably now convince Thoros to let me go but Beric won't fall for any of this foolery. I have to try something else._

"Tell me something, Beric, what makes you so loyal to the King of the North now?" Jaime asks him from across the table, "I thought you people only followed Gods."

Thoros and Beric share another knowing look. "I've seen him." Beric says, "In the flames. I've seen him battling the real enemy."

"In the flames? Real Enemy?" Jaime sneers. "Don't tell me you believe all this nonsense."

"Don't mock the Lord of Light, Ser Jaime." Thoros drunkenly says, wagging a finger at him, "I've seen it myself."

"You'll have to show me this trick, Thoros, never knew you for one to have visions in fires."

"I wasn't… until I met him." He nods to Beric.

"The Lord of Light, do you know his true name, Kingslayer?" Beric asks.

"Can't say that I do."

"Across the sea he's called R'hllor. He is the promised God, the one who looks after the world and eradicates its shadows."

"Wish I'd known. Would've saved me the trouble of learning about the Seven growing up."

"This is no joking matter." Beric's tone was grave, and Jaime let his mask of merriment slide.

"I apologize." Jaime nods, "Go on. Tell me more about your lord. Can you prove that he exists?"

"His will is with us all, whether we like it or not." Thoros mutters sadly.

"You are a man who believes what he sees with his own eyes, are you not?" Beric asks him.

"I suppose I am, like any man."

"Not every man sees with his eyes." Thoros grunts. "Some will deny what they are seeing until the end of their days because it'll make them feel safe."

"In the morning perhaps you will get your chance to see with your own eyes the Lord of Light's will." Beric says, in a tone that suggested there was no negotiating out of it. "Maybe you will become a believer yourself, Kingslayer."

"I doubt it." Jaime takes a sip from his wine, his eyes scanning the room. Several brotherhood men were standing guard, watching them eat and drink and talk… Jaime couldn't take all of them at once… But in the night he could possibly try something while they slept…

"Whatever happened to Edmure Tully?" Jaime asks, suddenly remembering the prisoner beneath the Twins.

"We released him." Beric says after some clear hesitation.

Jaime blinks, letting his disbelief show. "You released a lord? Do you have any idea how much profit you could make from selling him off or keeping him a hostage? I'm supposed to believe you just let the Lord of Riverrun escape without anything in return?"

"We are not the bandits you think us to be. The men who spread shame to our name have been executed. Edmure Tully had no use to us, and the Tullys are loyal to the Starks." Beric tells him.

"Well he has nowhere to go. Riverrun is controlled by us now." Jaime says, knowing there was a sizable garrison of Lannisters stationed there. If Edmure returned, Jaime or Cersei would hear of it, and he would be their prisoner of war once again.

The large doors suddenly opened behind the guardsmen and Anguy the archer strolled through in a hurry. "Lord Beric!" He cries, "We've got a man coming from the north, says he's with the King and needs our help. You should come see him."

Beric wiped his mouth off and stood, nodding to Jaime and Thoros, who both got up and followed him. Jaime would've liked to use this opportunity to escape, but Beric insisted he keep up. They crossed the bridge outside over to the other tower. Inside they came upon an older fellow who was nearly naked and frostbitten from the cold. His grey beard was powdered with snow, and his eyes were bloodshot as they looked up at him.

"Who are you?" Beric asks.

"D-D-Da-Davos S-S-S-Seaworth, m'lord." The man stutters as Anguy hands him a cloak to cover himself with. "M-M-My thanks."

"Come by the fire and warm yourself, Davos." Beric invites him over to the stony hearth that once belonged to the Freys. Jaime didn't understand, but pieced together that whoever this old man was, he'd been robbed, most likely by bandits.

"The King of the North sent you?" Beric asks, and Davos shakes his head.

"N-N-Not here. G-G-G-Greyjoys."

Thoros gives him his own cloak and his goblet of wine from earlier, which Davos drinks like a starving child. "Now we know why you're naked. What mad quest were on you seeing the Greyjoys for?"

Davos shook his head again, wincing. "He can't speak properly, give him a moment." Jaime says.

"I c-c-can speak just f-f-fine, thanks!" Davos snaps at him sharply, swallowing some more ale with a thirst. "Jon S-S-Snow s-s-s-sent me there. It's p-p-private matters I can't share, but I thank you f-f-for allowing me in if it's all the s-s-s-same. I expected to find the Freys here and I worried… But I c-can't say I know who you people are."

"We're loyal to House Stark. That makes us friends." Thoros tells him cheerfully.

"They're the Brotherhood without Banners." Jaime tells him.

Davos looks between them, his eyes landing on Jaime last and frowning. "Do I know you?"

"Don't think so. You'd know." Jaime smirks.

"You're wearing L-L-Lannister armor."

"I am indeed."

Davos glares at Beric and Thoros. "What's a Lannister doing here if you serve the Starks?"

"Receiving a trial in the morning." Beric says, "You speak to the Kingslayer, Ser Jaime Lannister."

The look on the old man's face humored Jaime to see. It was a mixture of shock and anger, though Jaime had grown used to it now. "Kingslayer… here? W-Why?"

"Until your new friends took it over it belonged to the Freys and they were loyal to us." Jaime looks at Beric as he says, "I should've trusted my gut instinct and never gone to see this rotten place again."

"Why were you traveling north?" Davos asks.

"To speak with your King. My sister sent me." Jaime says.

Davos stands up, nearly allowing the cloaks to fall off his naked form in his haste. "What is the Queen's response? Is she here as well?"

"I'm afraid I came alone." Jaime sighs, annoyed. "But I need to speak with your King, urgently, and these men are keeping me here to perform some religious trial by combat."

Davos frowns, "Well, perhaps not. Beric, you've saved me from the winter. I owe you my life. But may I make one more request?"

"Speak it and we'll see."

"Allow him to go free with me so he might speak with the King. It is more important than you know that this happens!" Davos looked desperate, like a man who'd gone through the seven hells and only now had found some hope. "I beg of you, Beric! If you are loyal to Jon then you will let this happen!"

"You trust a Lannister?" Beric asks him.

"I trust my King." Davos replies. "We need his help."

"Then you shall have it. The Lord of Light sent you here, Ser Davos, as they sent us here and the Kingslayer here as well. None of us were here not long ago yet here we all are now." Beric says, smiling, "However, the two of you will not be traveling alone, I think. The Brotherhood without Banners received an invitation from our King earlier today, and I intend on being there for his war summit."

Jaime couldn't believe it. Just like that, Davos had rescued him from their clutches of insanity. _How?_ When Beric and Thoros left the two of them beside the fire, Jaime sat down and said, "I owe you a debt."

"Aye." Davos agrees, and is given water and bread from a serving wench. He eats it with haste, eyeing Jaime wearily. "I got lucky coming here. The Freys wouldn't give me their hospitality if they were still here. You, on the other hand…"

"Luck has its moments. I was _lucky_ you came around when you did." Jaime smiles. "Seriously. Thank you. I don't know if you noticed, but…" He lifts up his golden hand, "I can't exactly fight the way I used to."

"Then we got that in common. I can't fight worth a damn anymore." Davos says, swallowing a huge chunk of bread.

"Listen…" Jaime hesitates, wondering how much he can truly trust this man. "When I see the King, Cersei expects me to bring back his head… or his sworn fealty, signed and everything. She wants his signature saying he bent the knee to me… Be honest with me, what are my chances of this actually happening?"

"With Jon Snow? Zero." Davos beamed at him, "Sorry."

"I figured." Jaime remembered meeting Jon Snow in Winterfell many years ago, before he was going off to The Wall… "It's incredible he's made it so far in such short time. I doubt he'd give it all up so easily."

"We sent you our terms, we need the South's aid for the wars to come."

"You were serious then, about this… army of the dead?"

"I'm afraid so, yes. I can't say when, but they're coming. When they do, we can't be fighting each other. We need to help each other or we won't survive." Davos was sounding stronger the longer he spoke, and less like the shriveled, naked man he appeared to be. "Will you help us?"

_Cersei will never go for this…_

"I'll see what I can do once I've spoken with Jon Snow."

* * *

Brienne

The Greyjoy encampment was on the outskirts of the forest near the sea. She could smell the salty air from here, as well as all the fires they burned in the night. Brienne was given clothing to cover herself with, though she hardly considered it more than dirty rags. Her legs and arms were bare as well as her stomach, which she didn't really like. Her injured right arm was bandaged by Howland's maester and her hands were treated for any infections. The maester told her she should consider herself lucky they were letting her go. "Being here was never lucky." Brienne said as they scrubbed her palms and fingers with a green ointment that stung like fire.

They had herded her through the forest with spears, as if she was going to try and run away. When they got too close, they let her go alone. At this point there was no turning back. If she ran and was caught by either Greyjoys or Crannogmen there was no telling what tortures they'd put her through. I just have to suffer this one night, and I'll be free…

Without anything to arm herself with, Brienne wandered closer to the camp. The silver vial they'd given her was hidden underneath the bandages around her arm so that it would not be discovered on accident. The large bump was disguised as the knot. Aside from that, she had nothing on her… The guards noticed this as well, and one of them already began to howl like the pig that he was.

"What've we got here, Sevron?!"

"Tallest whore I've ever seen, I reckon."

"She looks like a boy! Look at 'er muscles!"

"Are you quite finished?" Brienne asks them through a clenched jaw.

"Whoa there woman! Mind your tongue!"

"Apologies, my lords." Brienne remembered what Howland told her say and hated herself for every word that came pouring out of her mouth, "Euron Greyjoy sent for me. I am to be his lady for the evening."

The two guardsmen busted up with laughter and Brienne scowled at them, wishing she had Oathkeeper.

" _You_?! His next whore?! Hoo-Hahahaha!" The one named Sevron cackled.

"Where you from, whore?" Asked the other guard in between breaths.

"Deepwood Motte." Brienne lies, "I was sent for my abilities in the bed. I'm sure none of you could handle me, which is why the King asks for me."

They stopped laughing at this and actually appeared somewhat impressed. "Is that a challenge?"

"It would be, if I had time for the likes of you. Unfortunately for you I have a King waiting for me." Brienne says stiffly. "Would you be so kind as to lead me to him?"

"What's wrong with your arm? And your hands? _Seven hells_!" Sevron exclaims with disgust.

"Like I said, you couldn't handle me." Brienne says.

They decide to let her in to see Euron. It was almost too easy, and Brienne can't believe how foolish these men were to trust her. _I guess when a woman says she's a whore every man automatically believes her. But what will happen when they find out he never sent for a whore?_

As they entered his tent, Brienne thought it was empty at first. The war table set up in the center had scattered pieces everywhere, and the bed behind it was in ruins, its blankets and pillows torn apart. Blood was on the walls. Brienne looked to the guards, but neither seemed surprised by the sight. Sevron calls out to Euron, and she hears a voice behind a partition reply. "A whore?"

"Yes, Your Grace. She says you summoned her."

"The one I summoned arrived some time ago." Says the voice, sounding quizzical. "Send her in."

"She's right here." Sevron shoves her forward, "You said he summoned you here!"

"How else was I supposed to get past you dimwits to see the king?" Brienne asks, and the disembodied voice behind the partition barks with laughter.

"You boys can leave, I've got this!" Euron calls.

The guards grumble and leave. Brienne stands alone under the tent, surrounded by dark shadows cast by Euron's furnishings. The bed was especially daunting, and she wondered where all that blood had come from. When Euron Greyjoy stepped out from behind the partition, his shirt was unbuttoned so his belly hung out. He glanced at her and snorted with laughter as he strode over to his bed and took a seat. "Where the hell have you been hiding?"

"Excuse me?" Brienne frowns.

"Your father must be a giant. Look at you! What amazon did you grow up in?" Euron snickers at his own jest.

Brienne's heard it all before, but smiles politely anyway, "I'm from Deepwood Motte, Your Grace."

"Ah. You've seen better days. No wonder you're so big. Ever fight in a battle?"

"Never." Brienne looks down at her feet, "I've seen many battles, though, and in the end they're all the same."

"What's your name?"

Howland had given her a name to use, but in this small moment, Brienne just didn't want to lie, and her honor shined through with pride as she told him her name was Brienne.

"Brienne. I like it. Do you know who I am?"

"You're the King." She says, straight-faced.

"Aye. I am the King, but not the King of Westeros. No, I'm just a King of some islands no one cares about anymore."

Brienne watches him stroke his beard, her paranoia keeping her on edge. She tried not to let it show, but Brienne couldn't stop her fists from balling or her bare legs from trembling.

"Come, join me." Euron beckons to her, pulling some of his bloody sheets off the bed to make a spot for her to sit. "I won't bite."

Brienne walks slowly and carefully, her eyes scanning the tent for any sign of Melisandre's necklace. Unfortunately there was so much lying around it was impossible to tell where he could've hidden it. As she passed the partition, the strong stench of blood caused her to turn her head and witness the body of a naked woman lying against the wall with her legs bent disjointedly up over her shoulders…

"She tried to resist." Euron explains, "When they resist I get excited. When I get excited, well, bad things can happen if _they're_ not careful."

Brienne slowly turns around, her rage boiling beneath her skin. _I can overpower him. I can kill him now when he's most vulnerable!_ Except her oath with Howland promised to return him safely—and if Brienne was going to do something as dishonorable as this then she might as well do it the right way… _I just need to give him the drink and take him… But how will I distract the guards? And more pressingly… how will I slip him the potion?_

"Go on then. Take off your clothes." Euron urged her.

Brienne awkwardly began. Her top came off first, exposing her breasts. Euron's eyes traveled southward as she continued. _I can't believe I'm doing this._ She hesitates with her fingers around her bottoms. Euron notices.

"You move like a man, not a woman." Euron tells her with a sigh, "You came here to please me so you could make a profit, yet I'm not even the least bit hard right now. Have you ever done this before?" As he spoke, he lifted a bloody dagger from a sheath and played with it, smirking in her direction. "You're going to have to do better if you don't want to end up like the others."

Brienne frowned and pulled off the rest of her clothes. Standing naked before this man, Brienne thought she would feel immeasurable shame, yet she instead was reminded of the time she once stood before Jaime in the bath, completely naked… and Unashamed. Brienne smiles and walks toward Euron, swaying her hips as she does so. Euron's eyebrows lift and she can tell he's enjoying this. "Get on your knees." He tells her and she does so, slowly traveling to the ground, her face before his lap. "Undo my belt."

With tentative hands she reached up and follows his command, pulling the belt apart and yanking his trousers down to reveal his cock twitching with anticipation. It was hardly the first time Brienne had seen one, but it was the first time she'd seen one this close to her own face before, and it was disturbingly big with several warts growing under the head. She tried to hide her disgust at the sight and smell of it, but apparently could not because Euron started to chuckle. "I know, it's intimidating, isn't it? Go on."

Her hand wraps around it like she was holding a sword and she begins to pull on it, up and down. Euron abruptly howls and Brienne receives a sharp smack across the face. "You don't pull so bloody hard, woman! Are you really a whore?"

"My deepest apologies, Your Grace." Brienne says through gritted teeth, "I was nervous."

She begins again, grasping it gently so as not to hurt him. _I should just rip it out right now!_ Brienne thinks to herself, distracting her mind so she didn't focus on what her hand was doing. Brienne smiles and grunts with pleasure. "That's more like it. Tell me, what happened to your hands, Brienne?"

"I burned them in a fire." Brienne replies automatically, remembering the story Howland told her to spin. "Our house burned down. That's how my father passed. I tried to save him but I couldn't."

"How tragic." Euron yawns, "You now I find scars on a woman to be rather sexy. How about you show me the one on your arm?"

Brienne stops the motion of her hand and flushes. "I shouldn't, Your Grace. It is still healing and it'll bleed everywhere."

"There's already blood everywhere, look around you!" Euron laughs. "I didn't ask you, I commanded you. Let me see your scar." Suddenly the blade of the knife was tracing patterns against her skull, and she knew this was a threat. Brienne released his cock and slowly began to undo the bandages around her arm. _He'll see the vial. I won't be able to hide it from him now. What do I do?_

"You know, I've never met a woman like you before. You've got bigger muscles than half my men. Are you sure you've never seen battle?" Euron asks.

She glares up at him. "I told you, I haven't."

"You're a terrible liar, y'know." Euron's eyes narrow. "Why are you really here, Brienne?"

Before he can react, Brienne jumps on him—knocking the dagger out of his hands and onto the floor. Euron shouts with surprise as she pins him down, both her hands around his wrists while her legs straddled his lap. She felt his cock squirming against her thighs, but she didn't care. He's stronger than he looks, and pushes her off of him with a growl—the two of them wrestle each other until both roll onto the floor. She has him in a choke-hold as he furiously beats his fist against her ear, but each hit becomes progressively less powerful the longer she chokes him out. "You're right! I am a terrible liar!" She hisses in his ear, "I'm not a whore! I've seen more battles than I care to admit! And I've killed more men than you've killed women!" Euron gags in response, unable to make a sound. The shock in his eyes was satisfying. She could tell this had never happened to him before. His flailing hands reach for the dagger, but Brienne wraps one of her legs up around his arms to keep him from touching it. She has him then, and manages to yank the silver vial out from her half-undone bandages with her teeth. " _Open wide_!" She tells him, forcing the liquid down into his wheezing mouth by pressing his nostrils together with her fingers so he couldn't breathe otherwise...

When it's all over and Euron is passed out like a drunk, Brienne gets herself dressed, finding real clothing in one of his dressers that a man would wear. She then garbed herself in armor and found Euron's longsword hanging near the body of the dead woman. She equips it to her side. It would have to do until she could find who took Oathkeeper. Part of her had hoped it would be Euron who'd have it, but after searching around his tent for several minutes she determined it was definitely not here. _So who did Howland give it to?_

She finds the necklace of Melisandre's sitting on a mantelpiece by a mirror. _Did he try it on?_ She wonders, lifting it up and examining the red crystal that hung from its elegant design. If it makes the Red Woman younger, then what happens if someone else wears it? She debates trying it on, feeling a strange desire to do so, but knew this was folly. She had one last part of her mission to clean up, and it was most likely going to be hard sneaking Euron out of his own camp with hundreds of guards on patrol… Brienne finds rope and ties Euron up with his hands behind his back. She lifts him up and drags him, annoyed by his weight, before checking outside.

There was a single guard walking by, but the rest of camp was silent and dark. A couple of men could be heard drinking in the distance while another was fucking a whore somewhere. _I can do this. I just have to be smart and quick._ So she waits… and when no one is around she walks out into the open, hoisting Euron up over her shoulders, breaking for the forest line past rows and rows of tents. If any one of these men came out right now and saw this I would have to start fighting. She keeps her hand on the hilt of the sword, walking faster and faster…

At the gates to the encampment, Brienne saw the two guardsmen… both were standing suspiciously still… She approached cautiously, knowing that by now surely they'd heard her footsteps. That's when she noticed the small green darts protruding from both of their necks and she realized they were both awake, only paralyzed. Their eyes were following her as she walks by, watching her carry their king away, unable to do a thing about it. _I better hurry before it wears off of them…_

It didn't take very long for them to find her. The Crannogmen appeared like ghosts in the mist from behind trees, threatening her with spears. She tossed Euron down into the mud unmercifully, glaring at them all. "I did what you wanted!" She says, "Am I free to go?"

None of them say a word. They pick Euron up, throw him in a net made of vines, and drag him off. They never even look back. Brienne watches them leave until she finds herself alone in the middle of a swamp, wondering what the price of her freedom had truly cost her.

* * *

Arya

A little boy on the street was dirty, hungry, and starving. He begged for food from everyone that passed and received only hateful glares. Another little boy happened across this beggar boy, and saw he was in need. _Do you need help?_ The little boy asks the beggar boy. The beggar boy says he does, and asks for any food. The little boy tells the beggar boy to follow him, so he does. He follows the boy all the way to the tower of the Hand. There, the beggar boy seizes up in fear and tells the other they're not allowed inside, but the little boy insists and leads him around to a special passageway that led down beneath the tower into the sewers. _The Hand is my friend. He can help you. He helps all of us._

And that was how Arya met the Hand of the Queen, Qyburn. When she saw him, she had to remind herself that she was playing a boy and not to break character, because her rage was hard to stifle. She sniffed, wiping a tear out of her eye. Down in the dungeons, Qyburn had his back to them, facing a group of dirty children just like her. Even though they were all much younger than her true age, she was small enough to fit right in. "Good work today, Little Birds." Qyburn was telling them, handing each of them a small bowl of colorful treats. "The Queen is very pleased with your swiftness."

The old man turned and saw her, offering a friendly smile. "What do we have here?"

"I found him. He's hungry like I was once, and you said to bring any like him in if I found them." Says the boy who led her here.

"Ah! Well done, little one." Qyburn swooped toward her, and Arya smelled a strange stench come off from him—putrid like the smell of death. He leaned down and looked her in the eye. "What's your name?"

"Lommy." Arya tells him, sounding desperate and starving, "My name's Lommy, Ser! Please, do you have any more of those tasty looking treats?"

The Hand of the Queen chuckles and nods, bringing her over to the table where the rest of the children all huddled around, digging their fingers into their bowls like rats. Arya eyed them all, swearing to herself she would free them once this was over and find them a home, for they did not deserve to be this man's slaves. As Arya was given a bowl, she acted just like them, rummaging her fingers through the candy and stuffing it into her mouth like it was the first time ever eating something so delicious. Qyburn was watching her with a fixated stare. "How long have you been in King's Landing, boy?"

"All me life, m'lord." She squeaks, throwing in a flea bottom accent to her voice.

"Where are your parents?"

"Dead. Both of 'em." She said, "Both starved to death a few weeks back. Now it's just me…"

"Well, Lommy, I am very sorry to hear that." Qyburn tells her, patting her shoulder. "Do you like those treats?"

"I do very much!"

"Would you like to have food and treats and all you could ever want to eat and drink every day?"

"Yes M'lord, I would."

Qyburn smiles wickedly, and Arya can tell he was giving her the same sell he had given all the rest. _Except I'm the one fooling him this time._ "Don't worry, Lommy. I will take good care of you. In return, how would you like to play the same game the rest of the children play?"

"What game is that?" Arya asks.

"Well you see, to earn this special privilege I'm giving out, all you have to do is tell me everything you see and hear throughout your day. Every day from when you wake up until you fall asleep, I want to hear everything you've heard, even if it's the most mundane of details. You will be part of my Little Birds and sometimes I may even ask you to carry out a special task… Are you willing to do this for me, Lommy?"

She pretended to think about it before she nods and says, "I think I can do that."

"Splendid, young one! You'll never want for food again as long as you're with me." Qyburn's grin was sickening to behold. She wondered how many of these kids had fallen to prey to sicker games on his mind. _Just try something, old man. I'm ready for you._

Qyburn turned and looked to the rest of the children, twenty in all, and clears his throat. "Now that we're all together, has there been any updates on the whereabouts of the Iron Bull's hideout?"

At first nobody moves or says a word. Arya feels a sense of panic all of the sudden. What if one of these kids has seen her with Gendry? _Calm down, I'm a little boy just like the rest of them. Even if Arya Stark is seen nobody will know it's me._ One of the little girls raises her hand, her lips covered in chocolate.

"Yes?" Qyburn smiles at her.

"Last night, I was down by the docks when I heard someone talk about the Iron Bull." The Little girl says meekly.

"What did they say?"

"They were talking about him having two horns like a demon."

"Well we know those are false reports." Qyburn sighs, "But I thank you nevertheless."

"I followed them and I saw a lot of people…" The girl went on, much to Arya's horror, "I saw him. He had horns but it was only his helmet."

"Where was this, child?" Qyburn asks, plunging down beside her.

"In the dockyard, by Blackwater, in the big courtyard place." Says the little girl with a hopeful smile, "Can I have more?"

Qyburn hands her a peach, and she digs into it lustfully. "You did great work, Little Bird, fantastic work. The Queen herself might thank you for this… Though I wouldn't get your hopes up. I believe that will be all for today, my children, I will see you all tonight as scheduled. Lommy, come back tomorrow and I'll give you your first assignment." With that, the Hand of the Queen climbed up the stairs and disappeared.

Arya had barely heard a word he said to her; her heart was hammering in her ears. _They know where he is. They know where Gendry is!_ Suddenly the little boy named Lommy took off running ahead of the rest of the kids, leaving them watching her in confusion. Arya sprinted at break-neck speed—pushing past commoners and leaping over beggars in the streets. _I have to get to him before she does! I have to warn him the Queen is coming!_

* * *

Euron

The bonds that tied him down were so tight his wrists were bleeding. Euron Greyjoy opened his eyes and found himself looking up at the faces of three white weirwood trees. A deep, threatening growl announced the presence of the gigantic direwolf he'd seen before. With it, Howland Reed entered the grove with his walking stick. Beside him was The Red Woman. Her necklace was back around her throat, granting her the same beauty that almost fooled him before. She was glaring at Euron with passionate hatred. _Stupid Red Bitch thinks she can scare me?_ He tries to break free but his legs and arms are being pulled back by ropes tied to the trees, his back lying flat along the mossy floor.

"Welcome to Greywater Watch, Your Grace." Howland Reed says pleasantly.

"Where's that big beast, Brienne?" Euron spits at him.

"Don't worry about her. There's more pressing concerns." Howland tells him as he and the Red Woman come to a stop by his feet. "You made it difficult for this to happen, Euron. It didn't need to be difficult. Now we have to do things the ugly way... but you know, I've grown used to doing things the ugly way. I find that the ugly way of doing business is the most efficient way of doing business, and I think you would agree with me on that." Howland smiles down at him, as though eager for something.

"My men will come for me!" Euron shouts, "Our alliance is over!"

"There was never an alliance, you fool." Howland chuckles, "You really think I'd follow a king like you? You're an imbecile, Greyjoy; a stain on our society, just like every other King and Queen in the world. Your men will come looking, true, but they will never find you. All they know is a whore from Deepwood Motte came and stole you away in the night. If they somehow suspect us, Greywater Watch is impossible to find without guidance. I would never give you my lands or my loyalty, Greyjoy. However you have something very important that you can give me." Howland looks to Melisandre then.

The Red Woman kneels down and brushes her fingers along Euron's face. "You could have enjoyed this moment, you know." She tells him softly, "This could have gone so different. You would have lived a lot longer. But the Lord of Light's will always catches up with you sooner or later. Are you prepared to meet your Gods, Euron Greyjoy?"

"There is only one true God…" He says slowly, "His name _is_ Euron Greyjoy."

Melisandre smiles coldly. "I wonder how your god will fare against mine."

She removes her clothing and Euron glares between her and Howland before laughing uncontrollably. "What is this? You're going to have her fuck me to death? Great! Dream come fucking true. Except don't think I won't forget what you really look like under there."

"I don't expect you to." Melisandre says as she climbs on top of him, slides his half-erect cock inside of her… and removes her necklace. Her hands claw at his abdomen, scratching red trails through his skin as her fingers transform into talons. Euron screams in horror as her red hair dissolves into white strands, her skin sags and wrinkles, and her tits brush her engorged belly. Her insides turn from moist warmth to dry, cold, dampness.

"No! No! No! _Get the fuck off of me_!" Euron bellows, bucking with his hips but it's no use. A cackle escapes the old hag. She rocks against him back and forth while Euron's screams persist. "Stop! No! Get off me! Stop! _Somebody help me!_ "

Howland hobbles around them, a sick, triumphant smirk on his face. "You can scream all you like, nobody will save you. Better get used to it. We'll be here all night."

" _GET OFF! SOMEBODY HELP ME! HELP! HELP!"_ Euron bellowed, losing his mind. The old witch's laugh resonated alongside his screams all through the night…

* * *

Arya

Snow was beginning to fall from the sky in a light drizzle upon King's Landing. The sun was setting over the horizon of Blackwater Bay, casting an orange glow across the sky. In the dockyard, thousands of people were gathering. It was the largest gathering of commoners Arya had seen since her father's trial. In the center of it all, Gendry the Iron Bull was giving a galvanizing speech. Arya could hear him from down the street. Everyone was hailing him, making it impossible to make out his words. She pushes and shoves her way through them, still wearing the face of Lommy the little boy. Nobody pays her attention, but the closer she gets to him the more packed the crowd becomes, and she finds it impossible to squeeze through any of them. _Shit! I'm trapped!_ She realizes, unable to escape them. It smelled of sweat and rot down here and she couldn't breathe! " _Gendry_!" She tries to yell but her voice is drowned in the cheers…

Then those cheers turned into screams.

People were turning their heads and pointing behind them, the way Arya had come from. She looks as well, already knowing what she'll see.

Cersei Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, First of her name and Protector of the Realm, was descending the streets, surrounded by four golden Queensguard. The Hand of the Queen was beside her, speaking in her ear. Behind them, a massive force of both Lannister soldiers and Gold Cloaks stormed the way. Already they began to section off the dockyard, preventing anyone from leaving. Those who tried were shoved to the ground and kicked by a soldier. Others were punched and slapped out of the way. Nobody could resist them. The soldiers wore armor and had swords. Not a single man or woman in Gendry's crowd could say the same.

Arya stared at the woman she wanted to kill more than any other in Westeros, watched as Cersei delegated her troops through Qyburn, how her ruthless expression looked at everyone in the crowd with disgust… Arya fondled Needle's handle, hidden under her robes. _She's here. She's out in the open. I can see here clear as day. She has four guards. One of them is The Mountain…_ Right away she could tell which one that was. He towered over the rest at Cersei's side, never moving or making a sound… Arya removes her Lommy face, knowing nobody was paying her any attention at the moment, and pulls on the face of the Old Man Yoren instead. _I can't let Qyburn recognize me._

"Silence!" The Queen shouts, and by her command the crowd goes silent.

"It is the Crown's understanding that this is the Rebellion we've heard so much about." Qyburn says, stepping forward and smiling at the crowd. "I think we'll all be a lot more comfortable if you all bend the knee before we begin."

At first nobody moves… Then, one by one, everyone descends to their knees, afraid of the soldiers that surrounded them. Arya followed suit, blending in with the rest. _Yoren will do it, but Arya Stark will never bend the knee to you, Cersei._ She turns her head to try and find Gendry. She succeeds in spotting him out, still in the center of the crowd, only he no longer wore the iron bull helm… He too was on his knees like the rest. Once everyone was down, Qyburn clapped his hands together and stood aside for Cersei to speak.

"Your little rebellion ends here! All of your lives will be spared if the Iron Bull reveals himself now! Then all of these fine people will go back to their homes and talk about the dream they once had to rebel against their Queen!"

 _Don't you do it, Gendry! Don't you dare stand!_ Arya glares back at him and sees Gendry close his eyes… and stand up. He opens them and yells, "I'm the Iron Bull!" The crowd gasps. Some plead for him to stop but Gendry, who stands amidst a crowd of supporters, looks more determined than ever as he stares up at the Queen. "I'm also the last living heir to your ex-husband, King Robert Baratheon!" At this, the crowd goes wild with surprise. _You idiot! Stop! "_ Jon Snow proved that even a Bastard can be king! When I strike you down I will be the rightful ruler and you will be nothing!"

Cersei only smiles like a snake and says, "Aren't you the brave one. I thought all of Robert's bastards were taken care of by now. I suppose one slipped through the cracks and turned himself into a martyr for the people. How amusing—"

To everyone's surprise, the Queen was interrupted when a peasant at the head of the crowd slowly rose to his feet. He was an older looking man with a grizzled expression and peppery beard. He looked skinny and weak, his ribs showing under his ratty tunic. He looks boldly up at the Queen with tears in his eyes and says, "I am the true Iron Bull, ignore that boy pretender!"

"What is this?" Cersei laughs. "You think I'd believe—?"

Another man stands, this one chubby and baby-faced. He gulps and stutters as he says, "N-No! I-I'm the Iron Bull!"

"Stop it! Both of you!" Gendry shouts at them, but before the words escape his lips three more random people slowly stand and announce that _they're_ the Iron Bull. Arya gawks as more and more people do the same. The woman next to her stands up and says she's the Iron Bull. A small boy the age of seven or eight yells that he's the Iron Bull. A blind man says he's the Iron Bull. A young woman with a burn on her cheek says she's the Iron Bull… Even an old man named Yoren stands and says he's the Iron Bull. The entire crowd of thousands is on their feet within minutes, everyone shouting in harmony, " _WE ARE THE IRON BULL_!"

Cersei's face was stone when she says, "Kill them all."

At first, nobody moves except the Mountain, whose armor clinks loudly as he draws his greatsword. Even Qyburn gave Cersei a questioning look. "Your Grace?"

"Kill them all." Cersei repeats, "All of them. Ser Gregor, don't stop until they're all dead." If the Mountain understood her command, he made no acknowledgement of it as he made his way toward the crowd. Her Queensguard followed, drawing their blades. When they did, the rest of the Lannister soldiers drew their weapons as well and closed in on them.

" _No!"_ Gendry roared, but his cry went unheard as the Mountain cut down the old man who had been first to rise and admit his "identity". He was cut cleanly in half from head to naval, both ends flopping to the ground in puddles of guts and blood. At this point, everyone in the crowd screams and Arya finds herself being shoved from stranger to stranger without any control of where she went. _Shit! I have to get to Gendry!_ "Move!" She screams, drawing Needle. She sees Gendry fifty or so feet away amidst the panicking crowd of people, donning his horned helm and drawing a longsword. He charges into the crowd as the Mountain cuts every man and woman in his way down to get to him. The rest of the soldiers were blocking off the crowd's retreat, stabbing at anyone who tries. Some fought back and started throwing rocks, but this only angered the soldiers further. Before long people were being slaughtered all around her and the closer she got to Gendry, the tougher it became to maneuver through everyone.

As the Mountain drove his greatsword through three people at once and swung them off his blade, Gendry appeared within his sights. Arya watched from too far away as they squared off, both their swords at the ready. "You can't win!" She screams desperately, "Run away!" But the crowd's screams deafen hers. Gendry rushes in and the Mountain brings his greatsword down like a hammer. Arya screams, expecting to see her friend get split in half—instead Gendry was pushed by a random peasant running away who received the deadly blow. Gendry roared with rage, getting back on his feet and swiftly dodging a second swing to his head. Ducking low, the Iron Bull swings his sword at the Mountain's ankles and successfully slashes at skin. The Mountain goes down to one knee, and Arya is amazed. Gendry brings his sword back around and swings it at his neck—but the Mountain's hand reaches out and grabs the blade, allowing it to sink into his palm a few inches. Gendry tries to yank it out. It remains embedded in the skin, and the Mountain slowly pulls Gendry into his embrace.

"NO!" Arya roars, tripping and falling to her hands and knees. She could only watch from mere feet away as Gendry was pinned between the Mountain's chest and arms. His Bull's helm came tumbling off into the dirt and Arya saw he was bleeding from his mouth and gasping for air. "LET HIM GO!" Arya scrambles up to her feet but hands around her shoulders are pulling her back. She kicks at whoever it is but misses. "STOP! LET HIM GO!"

The Mountain pressed harder and harder until Arya heard the bones in Gendry's back crack. He couldn't even scream as all the air was pushed from his lungs and his eyes bled tears. He saw Arya in the crowd… only it wasn't Arya, just an old man…

Finally the Mountain released him and his body fell to the ground, limp and lifeless… The Mountain turned and saw the crowd watching and without hesitation or warning—swiped his greatsword through the air and disemboweled five peasants all at once, their guts spilling down their legs before they died. Arya fell down pretending to be one of them. Whoever was pulling on her had also fallen, and but Arya didn't care about them. She had eyes only for Gendry, who wasn't moving…

For a while she was No One again. Arya Stark felt emotions, but No One felt nothing. When she was No One, she could be a dead body and listen to the Mountain and the Lannisters murder everyone around her without feeling a thing... The longer she watched Gendry's lifeless face however, the harder it was not to cry…

"I think we've got enough now." Says one of the Queensguard nervously as he approaches the Mountain, who is pulling his greatsword out of a child on the ground. "Well done, Ser… Er… Is it Robert Strong or—?" The Queensguard never finishes his question, as the Mountain turns and strikes the pommel of his sword into his eye, bursting his brain and sending him spiraling backward into the other two Queensguard.

" _What the fuck, Clegane!?"_ They yell as the Mountain lifts his gigantic, red-stained sword into the sky and cuts them down before they have the chance to run. Arya looks away from Gendry's face and sees that the Mountain's eyes are red and bleeding out of his helm as if he were crying… The giant turned her way and her eyes snapped shut. She listens to him walk away toward the soldiers still slaughtering the peasants. When she opens her eyes again, she watches with amazement and confusion as the Mountain cuts down his own men just like the rest, swinging with relentless fury at whoever was unlucky enough to cross his path. Suddenly Lannister soldiers, Gold cloaks, and peasants alike were fleeing from the docking yard. Some dove into the ocean to escape, other climbed to rooftops, but those unlucky enough not to find a way out in time met the goliath's blade.

No One watched as the Hand of the Queen rushes up to the Mountain. No One watches as he begins to talk to the giant in a soothing tone of voice. It was impossible to hear what he was saying over the screams and chaos…

No One closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, the Mountain is standing still as a statue, his sword hanging limply at his side. Qyburn is patting his elbow gently, like a mother would comfort their child. He guides the Mountain away. No One watches them until they are gone. The Queen and all her soldiers eventually leave as well. The remaining survivors of the massacre are few and far between.

No One stands and sees that the one who had been trying to pull him away from the Mountain was the homeless girl, Hilda…

 _She recognized my face and wanted to save me…_ No One pulls off the face of the old man and lets it drop to ground… Arya goes to Gendry's body and kneels down beside it, her expression stoic. She touches his chest and confirms there is no heart beating inside for herself…

"You idiot."

Arya wishes she could cry… It would feel so good to cry right now… But Arya can't cry… it isn't grief that pushes her to stand, it isn't depression that reminds her to pick up Needle…

 _Cersei…_ Arya turns amidst the thousands of bodies and looks up at the Red Keep slowly turning white with snow. _I'm coming._


	6. Face to Face

Jon

Jon Snow hated it down here.

When he was little, nightmares plagued him of this place; the long, black tunnels lined with flickering torches on the cold, stone walls always felt like a descent instead of a flat expanse. The deeper he traveled through the crypts, the further away he felt from the surface. _You have to go down there, Jon. Down farther than you've ever been. There's something waiting for you in the crypts. You have to find it._ Bran's last words to him before he departed echoed in his mind, pushing him to keep going. _But what will I find? What can possibly be so important down here that I have to find it?_ Jon wondered, though he trusted Bran's word…

Farther and farther he walked, until he reached a familiar chamber that was a dead-end. It was tradition for the Starks to create the tombs for their family at birth, so that it would be ready for them in death. Here, Jon found the tombstones of Robb, Sansa, Bran, Rickon, and Arya. Rickon's was the only one with fresh dirt around its base. Then there was Eddard and Catelyn Stark's gravestones at the head of the room, statues carved in their likeness were staring solemnly down at him, side-by-side. Even as a statue, Jon thought he could feel Catelyn's hatred of him in her eyes. She had been the one to insist Jon not be given a tomb alongside the rest of their family…

 _There's no more tunnels. This is it. This is as deep as I can go. So what waits for me here, Bran?_ Jon examines each grave and finds no clue. Not even his father, who always offered wisdom and council could help him now… His statue was eerily similar to the real Eddard Stark. The expression was grim… Reflecting Jon's feelings back at him. "Why did you have to die?" Jon asks with a heavy sigh.

He notices a small clearing as though another grave was supposed to be there. _Is that where I was supposed to go… If I was a Stark?_ There were spaces between all the graves of course, but this one stood out to him. It was in-between the entryway to the chamber and Robb's tomb. He brushed the dirt a little with his foot, and felt something hard underneath. Digging further with his hands, Jon uncovers a small, black slab in the earth… It glistened under his torchlight. Aside from that, there was no hint of anything. No words or markings to teach him some hidden secret. Nothing. Just a simple, black slab of rock… _I don't remember this being here. Then again, I haven't been here since I was a boy._ Eddard took Robb and Jon down into the crypts when they were both lads. Jon learned about their family line, even though he was a bastard, as they traveled to where he stood now… He remembers being jealous of Robb for having a grave stone ready for him with the rest of the family. _Now Robb is dead and here I stand…_ Jon Snow removes a glove and strokes the smooth, glassy surface. _Is this dragonglass? What is this?_ Embedded in the middle is a small slit, nearly invisible to his eye, but not to his thumb. _Only something razor-thin could fit in here… A sword maybe?_ Jon compares the size of Longclaw to the slit's, and is disappointed to find that his blade was mere centimeters too wide and thick to slide in. _Damn... What is this for, father?_

Beneath Eddard's statue was a massive chest. It was the only chest in the room… _The Boltons never bothered to bury him…_ Jon knelt before it, wondering if perhaps the answer he sought was in here… But as Jon's fingers gripped the wooden handle, he closed his eyes and hesitated. _Can I really do this?_

He slowly lifts it open.

Eddard Stark's skull faces him amidst a neatly assorted pile of yellow and brown bones. The skull is staining as well, but it still retains a white hue. Jon stares in horror into its empty eye-sockets, at a small crack across the nose where he'd once broken it, and at his teeth all still perfectly in place, grinning at him. Jon slams the lid shut, feeling sick. It was only his bones. _You know nothing, Jon Snow._ This was a mistake.

Jon leaves, walking faster than he did to get down here. The closer he got to the surface the chillier it crept upon him. It had been so warm down here he was sweating—his hair clinging to his forehead and neck. The snowy, winter air was a refreshing release as he climbed outside again. The image of Eddard's skull still loomed in his memory, and Jon doubted he'd ever forget it. As he began to walk back toward the castle, a man in robes with a clattering chain around his neck appeared amidst the blizzard coming toward him in a hurry.

"Your Grace, a raven came from the citadel for you!" Cries the chubby maester desperately over the storm, coming upon him with a letter in his hand.

* * *

Tyrion

Never had he seen the war room this packed. Ever since the flagships for the Martells and Tyrells arrived while they were passing Dorne, the Red Wind had become crowded with serving men and women, most of whom belonged to Lady Olenna Tyrell. That was outside, however. Inside the war room of Dany's ship, only the lords and commanders were present. Tyrion sat beside his queen. On her other side was Jorah Mormont. We was wearing heavy plated armor and a sword, _always ready for battle that one_. Jorah's left arm was covered in a sleeve of chain mail, so as not to disturb their guests. Missandei stood behind Daenerys, ready to serve at her will. Next to Tyrion was Greyworm. He too wore his armor, though Tyrion doubted he would ever see the warrior without it. Greyworm and Missandei were casting each other nervous glances, Tyrion noticed. On the other side of the table was Yara and Theon Greyjoy. Yara was seated while Theon stood gallantly at her side, to show who was in command. Finally there was Varys, who sat at the far end of the table, his hands hidden beneath his sleeves, pleasantly smiling at the newcomers.

Before them was Lady Olenna Tyrell and her three handmaidens whom she dismissed at the door. "Mother of Dragons." Olenna greets, bowing her head with respect. "I must admit, before I saw your fleet on my horizons I half-believed The Spider to be spinning me a web of lies. Fire and Blood, he told me. Ha! I trusted my gut. I sent you my ships. Now here you are." She bows her head in respect to Daenerys.

"I appreciate everything you've been able to spare, Lady Olenna." Daenerys says, "My advisers tell me you are an invaluable ally. Thank you for coming today."

Olenna's eyes flickered to Tyrion at the Queen's side. "Your advisers? Ah yes. I remember you, Lannister."

"For my good looks, no doubt?" Tyrion jests. Olenna does not return the smile. _She's a fickle one. She had no love for me before and certainly won't have any going forward, especially after what Cersei did to her family._

It was not the Tyrells Tyrion worried about when it came to scorned families, however. When Ellaria Sand entered next, she was accompanied by her three daughters—Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene Sand, otherwise known as the Sand Snakes. Her three daughters were supposed to wait outside, yet Ellaria didn't seem to care about formalities. She waked briskly into the chamber with her head held high, her serpentine eyes planted firmly on Tyrion instead of their Queen.

"You must be Ellaria Sand." Daenerys greets. Before their meeting, Tyrion had informed Dany about his… relationship with the Martells. He told her about Oberyn, and the tragic death he suffered at the hands of the Mountain… all for Tyrion's sake. " _The Martells have despised the Lannisters since you were a baby. There is a chance my presence will cause friction between us_." Tyrion had warned.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you." Ellaria says to her, still glaring at Tyrion. "What is he doing here?" The other Sand Snakes were glowering at him as well.

Tyrion felt very uncomfortable. These woman were famous for poisoning their enemies. "He is my Hand." Dany says as Tyrion reaches out and clutches his goblet of wine, deciding it was safer in his hands than out in the open.

"He is a _Lannister_." Ellaria seethes, "I was not informed he would be here."

"Would you have come if you were?" Tyrion asks her.

Ellaria shakes her head and glares at Varys, who smiles innocently back at her. "I thought we were here to defeat the Lannisters, not break bread with one. I will not stand here with this little imp in my sights. He is the reason my husband is dead."

"If there is a problem allow me to address it now," Dany says, standing up suddenly. "Tyrion Lannister is the Hand of the Queen. I will not hear anything more about his past or his family's crimes. Ellaria Sand, I invite you to take your men and leave us if that is what you wish. If my Hand upsets any of you that much then you may go." Tyrion glances wearily up at Dany, worried their plan might not work.

Ellaria Sand looked ready to spit. "I sailed here from Dorne. I sent you ships and soldiers, and this is the gratitude I get?"

Dany smiles. "You act like you're entitled to something. Tell me, who is the Queen in this room?"

Ellaria doesn't respond at first. She is stiff with anger, and frozen with fear. Tyrion knew they had seen her dragons on their way here from Dorne. It was part of the plan.

Tyrion leans to her and says, "Daenerys, maybe we should—"

"Who is _the Queen_ in this room?" Daenerys repeats.

"You are." Ellaria answers.

"You sailed here from Dorne. You sent me ships and soldiers… then you come into my chamber and insult my Hand, therefor insulting me, and you expect _gratitude_?" Dany narrows her eyes. "Thank you for all the help you've given me. If seeing Cersei Lannister pay for what she did to your paramour isn't something you care about then I don't need you."

The Princess of Dorne was shaken by these words, and Tyrion was honestly surprised when Ellaria Sand abruptly fell to her knees and bowed her head in shame, tears spilling out of her eyes. "I apologize, Your Grace!" She cries as all three of her daughters gawk at their mother. "Forgive me! Forgive me, I beg of you! Oberyn was everything to me!"

"You poisoned Myrcella, did you not?" Tyrion asks calmly, remembering what Varys had informed him on his return from Dorne. Ellaria's horrified face told him everything. "The reports say she died on the ship home from Dorne… they say Jaime, my brother, was right there with her when it happened. Apparently she dropped dead, blood pouring from her nose. My niece was sixteen years old when you murdered her…"

" _Mercy_!" Ellaria weeps, her face an ugly mess. "Mercy, please! I-I only did what—"

"You then ensued to stab your prince in the back." Tyrion sighs, "If Oberyn could only see how far you've fallen. I wonder what he would think if he knew the woman he loved had murdered his brother?"

Obara Sand steps forward and snaps, "None of this would have happened if _your_ family never crossed _ours_!"

"It's a good thing we aren't all held accountable for our family's actions." Tyrion replies, "Otherwise the three of you would be just as liable as your mother. Then again, there is the inexplicable assassination on Trystan Martell's life that occurred on his way to King's Landing that nobody is questioning." Obara scowls at him, irritably gripping her spear.

The Queen of Thorns tutted. "You lot really are snakes, except you're all tangled together in a knot. Honestly, Ellaria…"

Ellaria lifted her face to Dany, pitiful and desperate. "Please, My Queen. We will do anything you ask. I swear of it! We will be loyal to you!"

"How can I trust someone with a reputation for betrayal?" Daenerys asks her softly.

"All I care about—all I'll ever care about until the day I die—is seeing that wicked whore suffer!" Ellaria wipes her eyes angrily. "Let me prove my loyalty! Allow my sand-snakes to take the Mad Queen's head!"

Daenerys turns to Tyrion and asks, "How large of an army does Dorne have?"

"Roughly 45,000."

"That's quite a force." Dany admits. "How large is our army in total?"

"Eight thousand Unsullied, five thousand Greyjoys, sixty-five thousand from the Tyrells, and one-hundred thousand Dothraki. With the Martells that adds up to 213,000... Give or take."

"So about twenty percent." Dany states, "That is how much value you have, Ellaria Sand. Twenty percent. I don't _want_ to lose twenty percent, and I know you don't _want_ to give up on your revenge." Ellaria nods, her eyes shining with hope. "Swear your loyalty to me for all to hear. Devout yourself to me… and I will give you another chance."

"I do! Your Grace! I swear by the old gods and the new to serve you! _Thank you_!"

"Last of all, your Sand-Snakes. I will not have them interfere in my war. I will be the one to bring down Cersei, _not_ any of you… however, you all will bear witness when I do… This much I can promise you." Daenerys Targaryen approaches her so that Ellaria Sand is down at her feet when she says, "If you ever betray me, insult my Hand, or give me any reason at all to question your loyalty—I will give _your_ children over to _mine_."

The fear took seed in Ellaria's mind as Dany's threat washed over her. Tyrion smirked, drinking his wine, knowing for now at least the Martells would be on their side. _And I won't have to put up with any more clever insults._ In war, you have to make _sacrifices_. Tyrion wanted nothing more than to have this woman executed for murdering Myrcella, who was innocent and far too young to be involved in their terrible game… _Sacrifices are a bitch._

Ellaria Sand stood, wiping her eyes, and was allowed a seat at the table while her Sand-Snakes stood over her dutifully. Dany turns to face all of her allies standing in the center of her chamber. "Once again, thank you all for coming. I've waited my entire life for the day I take back my home from the people who stole it from me. Today is not that day. Soon, the capital will be on our horizons, and I've called us all here to discuss and strategize. My Hand will begin."

Tyrion clears his throat and looks up and down the table, receiving mostly frowns. _Oh how they must hate waiting on me._ He takes another drink from his wine, glaring down at the map of King's Landing displayed across their table. "Right." He says, gathering his wits, "As someone who was once Hand of the King and defended the very city we're about to sack, I believe I do have some wisdom on this matter, just to make that clear." He eyes Ellaria especially hard as he says this, "I also have a lifetime's worth of experience dealing with my sister's evil schemes. It is likely she is expecting an invasion from some enemy or another—but most likely it's from the north and not us. Which means the eastern walls will be the most heavily guarded at first… however, when she sees us coming this will change. I believe she will move her entire army to the western wall over Blackwater Bay, where she believes the battle will begin. In reality, the largest of our forces will be on land waiting for the right moment to strike. The Lion gate and the Gate of the Gods will be completely undefended for our combined forces of Dothraki, Martell, and Tyrell soldiers."

" _If_ you're correct in knowing your sister's battle plans, then _maybe_ this could work." Ellaria impetuously grumbles.

"I know her better than any of you." Tyrion points out, raising his cup again for a drink.

"I also have ten working trebuchets, six expertly crafted ballista, and two weathered but usable battering rams ready to go." Lady Olenna pipes in. "As well as a few siege towers. However I think we may not need any of that. I might have an ally within the capital as we speak. No doubt Cersei believes he is on her side, but if I know Randyll Tarly, he will see my sigil and the size of our army and piss his armor."

Tyrion glances wearily at her. "Are you saying there's a chance we can get him to open the gates for us?"

"Yes, I do believe he will. He doesn't know we're coming, but when he does, Randyll Tarly won't risk his life for Cersei's when he knows he can survive by joining me. After my Margaery was _blown up_ and Cersei stole the throne I knew that Randyll would slither his way into the courtroom to gain what little power was left for him to have. His family however has always been loyal to the Tyrells. If he proves me wrong then we'll knock the gates down and I'll see him hang, so there's always that."

"Blackwater Bay will be the thick of the battle." Tyrion goes on, pointing on the map. "When Stannis invaded I had wildfire shipped out to meet them. A single arrow ignited near half his fleet. And that was only a small portion of it. Cersei has hundreds of clay pots and barrels filled with the stuff beneath King's Landing. She proved she was willing to destroy her enemies with it when she destroyed the Sept of Baelor. Cersei would go even farther to prevent us from taking her throne away."

"How far?" Dany asks.

Tyrion finishes his goblet of wine. "They can fling the pots of wildfire down on us from the walls, sure. There are more sinister ways of defending your city, however. She would have every house, every market, every stable, every tower, perhaps even the Red Keep itself—secretly storing wildfire in the tunnels beneath them, just waiting to go off."

"The labyrinth underneath King's Landing goes under every building in the city, only the bravest can travel through without direction." Varys sighs, "We need to solve this problem before it becomes one."

"Agreed." Tyrion nods, eyeing Daenerys. They'd discussed this part earlier as well… much to her grief. _I know you don't want to do this, but it's necessary._

"Jorah." Dany addresses, "You will take a small team underneath the city the night before the invasion. You will find a way to stop the wildfire from going off."

"Your… Your Grace…" Jorah stammers, "I think my place is better off at your side."

"Your place is where I need you to be." Dany tells him, not unkindly. It wasn't the Queen who decided this was the best use for Jorah… Tyrion reaches over and refills his cup with the pitcher of wine, a guilty grimace on his face. "Varys has informed me he knows a secret passage outside the city to get you in. He will guide you there. Find the cashes of wildfire, kill whoever is setting them up."

"We don't even know they'll be down there at all. What if I find nothing?"

"You won't." Tyrion says, "The day before the battle, Daenerys and I will be riding Drogon up to the Red Keep to meet with my sweet sister personally. After that she will be on high alert. Whoever she sends to set the wildfire off will be down there, and you will find them."

"If I may," Varys says, "It is likely she is using my Little Birds to do her bidding. Her Hand, Qyburn, is a wicked, vile man. I would only beg that if it is children down there you find, to please show them mercy…"

"I don't make a habit of slaughtering children." Jorah growls irritably, glaring at Daenerys. "Forgive me, but why me? Why not Greyworm? Or the Greyjoy lad?"

"Greyworm and Theon are commanders of their own units in the battle." Daenerys tells him apologetically. "I need them to lead their soldiers."

"You need _me_ by your side." Jorah replies.

"There will be no discussing this any further." Tyrion snaps, "You've been given an order, Mormont. I advise you take it."

"I take my orders from the Queen, not you."

"The Queen has given you an order, did you not hear?" Tyrion asks sardonically. He feels Jorah's scowl digging into him. "Infiltrate, sabotage, then get out. There are vats of sand over the tunnels that hold the wildfire. Release the sand and the wildfire will never be a threat again. When your mission is complete, then you can join the battle above."

"Where will you be during the battle, Your Grace?" Yara asks.

"Defending the ships in Blackwater Bay with my dragons." Dany smirks, "If my Hand's theory is correct, there will be 30,000 Lannister and 20,000 Tarly soldiers waiting for us on the walls and behind the gates. That far outnumbers the 13,000 that will be attacking the bay-side. Which means they will need support."

"Unfortunately we cannot use the dragons to burn all our enemies away like we did with Victarion's fleet." Tyrion points out, "After-all, we're trying to take the city, not burn it down. Focus your fire on the wall alone and leave the city itself be. We don't want to be burning the smallfolk either. Can you control your dragons well enough to restrain them?"

It was the first time he'd asked her this. Daenerys nods. "My dragons won't do more than I ask them to."

"You're sure?" Tyrion needed to know. It was also important that everyone in the room knew.

Daenerys says, "They listen to me. When I ride Drogon the others follow. If I fly to the red keep, they will follow. If I stay to the walls, they others will as well. They won't harm anyone unless I give the command to."

Tyrion swallows another mouthful of sour wine, remembering the rage in Dany's eyes when she shouted " _Dracarys!"_ and burned away Victarion's fleet... _Let's hope for the sake of the innocent that you are right._

* * *

Cersei

The door to the Queen's chambers open, heralding Qyburn's arrival. Cersei Lannister finishes placing the crown upon her head before she turns and faces her Hand. Standing behind him in the doorway, as usual, was the Mountain. His golden armor was still covered in blood from head to foot, dented and bruised from combat… Cersei forbade him from changing it, and the giant always listened to her. Always…

"Your Grace." Qyburn says with a courteous bow.

"Explain something to me, Qyburn." Cersei says, moving to her table to pour herself a goblet of wine, "The Mountain's eruption yesterday."

"A misfortune to be sure." Qyburn sighs, "Tragic accident."

"Yes." Cersei narrows her eyes and takes a drink, watching Qyburn quietly. When she lowers the cups she says, "What went wrong?"

"If I had to guess, it was when you commanded him to ' _kill them all'_. The Mountain is obedient to a fault, Your Grace. He did as he was commanded…"

 _Is he telling me this is my fault?_ Cersei grits her teeth but keeps her expression like stone. "So he is sentient but not competent. Perhaps you should have made these rules clear with me beforehand."

"I take full responsibility, Your Grace. Luckily I was there to prevent him from causing even more harm than what we suffered."

"How exactly did you do that?" Cersei asks, taking another sip of her goblet and sitting down in a golden armchair.

Qyburn chuckles. "It's, eh, difficult to explain."

"Try."

"I am his master. His creator. His owner." Qyburn says. "He does what I tell him to. He knows to follow your orders, and as long as I'm around he will continue to do so." Cersei notices his eyes don't quite meets hers as he speaks. _What is he hiding?_

"Careful, Qyburn. You are my hand. I've enjoyed your help… I've given you more power than you've ever been given. Do not lie to me now."

"I would never lie to you, Your Grace." Qyburn says with a reassuring smile. "I live to serve you."

"If that is true then you will find me replacement Queensguard at once."

"There are many suitors ready for your audience. Even Randyll Tarly has put forth his son, Dickon, as a candidate." Qyburn tells her.

Cersei scoffs. "Dickon? What a dreadfully awful name to have, the poor boy... Have him come by my chambers tomorrow night. I'd give him his audition in privacy… The hour is late and I wish to rest. Thank you, Qyburn. That will be all."

He bows before he exits. When the door shuts, Cersei exhales and removes the crown from her head, holding it in both her hands like she was holding a newborn child… _This is what's left… This is what remains of my legacy. My children are just names now… Perhaps this is what father always feared. I have everything I ever wanted. How long? How long will this last? How long before I just become a name?_

Her goblet was empty.

Cersei refills it, spilling crimson liquor over her cut fingers.

* * *

A Gold Cloak

Orwen Apperford has no desire to get up and go to work this morning. It was still dark as he climbed out of bed and threw on his golden cloak. The armor weighed heavily on his arms and legs as he dragged himself out of his house and onto the street, spitting at a homeless man on the ground for good luck. He was especially irritable after nearly losing his head to The Mountain. Orwen had been one of the _lucky_ ones—he was nearly torn in half but luckily a fellow gold cloak of his was taken down instead. He'd also seen the Hand of the Queen come rushing down and calm the giant somehow... It was all so strange and frightening. Orwen didn't dare bring it up to his superiors. Anyone who asked too many questions attracted the wrong sort of attention in this city. _Keep my nose down and do my duty, that's all I got to do._ Orwen was scared of the Queen. When she gave the order to murder all of those people… Thousands dead in minutes. It was horrible. Of course Orwen had no love for them—but the fact that so many could be wiped out so quickly, and that the Queen's own bodyguard was able to get away with slaughtering his own men… It was times like these he wished The Hand hadn't banned everyone from using the ravens so Orwen could write to his mother in Lannisport.

He passed by several other gold cloaks who were descending the stairway of the eastern wall, chatting grumpily about how tired they were. Orwen didn't know them so he trudged along, wondering if Clayton would be on duty today and cursing himself for not taking a piss before leaving. As he climbed up the wall, the sun was slowly beginning to give light to his path. The Gold Cloak named Orwen had his eyes on his crotch, trying to unfasten it with haste. When he reached the parapets, he looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, then released his cock to piss over the wall and into the Blackwater below.

"Ahhh..." he sighs, gazing off into the ocean with a relieved smile…

…Orwen's eyes land upon hundreds of ships far off on the horizon. His smile falls away. His eyes go wide. His piss can be heard rattling off his own plated boots, and speckling his golden cloak as his cock goes limp in his hands.

* * *

Cersei

The first thing she did was grab the crown. She placed it over her head calmly, staring into her reflection in the mirror as Qyburn's words repeated over and over in her mind. She stands and allows her handmaidens to adorn her in the same black gown she wore the day she burned the Sept. Once they were finished, Cersei takes Widow's Wale and slides it into its golden sheath, equipping it at her side like a warrior. She then joined Qyburn in her chambers, who was waiting for her nervously. The Mountain was there as well, quiet as ever. The Queen moves to her window, overlooking Blackwater Bay where, off in the distance, she sees for herself the massive fleet approaching… and soaring over them in circles like giant bats were three unmistakable dragons.

Cersei says no words as she strolls past her Hand and Mountain. They follow her all the way down the Red Keep until she is in the throne room. Cersei sits down on the Iron Throne, leaning back against its blades while her sword rested across her lap.

"What is the plan, Your Grace?" Qyburn asks, his voice quivering.

"I'll wait." Cersei replies.

* * *

Daenerys

A light snow was falling from the sky as Drogon took flight causing Tyrion to tug hard on her waist to keep from falling off. "I don't like this as much as I remember!" She heard him shout over the whipping wind.

"Hold on tight!" Dany hollers back. It would take them at least twenty minutes to fly to the Red Keep. As Drogon flapped his mighty wings she heard Viserion and Rhaegal roar after their mother and brother, begging to come along. Dany had told them to stay before leaving, and like she had hoped, they obediently remained behind… _I only need one dragon with me for this. Forgive me, my children. Your time will come._

King's Landing was bigger than she imagined it. The Red Keep towered over it all at the edge of the ocean… and in the distance a crater of rubble scarred the earth where the Sept once stood proud, or so she guessed. "Welcome home." says Tyrion in her ear, bringing a grin to her face. This was it. _I'm finally here._ The people below all pointed up to the skies. Dany's pride swelled with every cry of surprise or fear that reached her ears as the dragon's shadow passed over them. Drogon roars as loud as he can, making his presence known for miles.

"Let's _land_!" Drogon swoops down toward the Red Keep. When they strike with the steps to the castle—the entire earth seem to quake. Hundreds of Lannister soldiers that guarded the long, wide stairs and streets all tripped over themselves to back away. Drogon turned his eyes on them, viciously licking his lips. Many of them begin to flee, clearing the rest of the stairs for them. Instead of dismounting, Drogon climbed up the rest of the way, growling and snapping his teeth at every guard he could. Dany heard hundreds of indiscriminate whispers from the crowd below as many people, whether they were soldiers, smallfolk, homeless, or children, looked on at the wonder that had unexpectedly crashed into their lives.

The gigantic doors groan to life as an ordinary old man came out in black maester robes; the Hand of the Queen badge pinned to his chest like Tyrion's. With him were ten Lannister guards, all of whom were uneasily watching the dragon with their swords ready. Qyburn's expression, however, is that of amazement and awe. "Never in all my years did I think to find myself face to face with a dragon… My brother would be jealous to hear of this…"

"Where is your Queen?" Daenerys calls down to him from atop Drogon's back.

"Queen Cersei awaits you in the throne room. She suspected you might come to negotiate first."

"I didn't come to negotiate anything." Dany says, "I could invade right now if I wished it. I've come to offer your Queen mercy."

"You'll have to offer mercy _inside_ …" Qyburn replies.

"This ought to be interesting." Tyrion grimaces. "What if we'd prefer to have her meet us out here instead? You see, there's a little problem with the dragon not fitting through the door. We could always just _remove_ the door, but then _we_ will end up owning that broken door and that just won't do."

Qyburn chuckles, "I'm afraid that won't be possible. The Queen will give you an audience in the throne room or there will be none at all. Your dragon…" Drogon hisses a threat at the small old man, getting right up in his face and sniffing him. Qyburn gulps, a trail of sweat rolling down his forehead. "Your dragon is welcome to stay here on the steps until you return. You have our word it will not be harmed."

Daenerys leers at this. "It's your men who should be worried. When I'm not around, the dragons can be restless and impatient. Drogon is especially rebellious. If one of you even gives him a wrong look, or steps just a little too close… I won't be there to stop him from doing as he likes."

"The Queen has a monster of a similar nature. I completely understand." Qyburn assures her, and the fear in his men's eyes told her they did as well. Dany and Tyrion both climb carefully off from the dragon. Dany whispers " _Wait for me_." and Drogon only reels his head back in response, glaring down the steps of the Red Keep. Qyburn ushers them inside, "Please, follow me."

The Throne Room was just as lengthy and impressive as it had been when Dany envisioned it in the House of the Undying. In the vision, the room was caved in and snow was cascading down over everything. It was as though some great fire had taken place. Now though the hall was perfectly normal. Both sides of the hall were crowded with nobles and lords, whispering as Dany and Tyrion walked past. Sitting on the Iron Throne was Cersei Lannister. Daenerys stops before the steps as both Hands join each of their respective Queen's sides. On her other side was a very large man in golden armor that was painted red with blood.

"Do you know who I am?" Dany asks the Queen.

Cersei does not respond. Her eyes flick toward Tyrion, and the look of absolute loathing that contorted her face reminded Dany of her brother, Viserys, when he _woke the dragon_.

"It's good to see you again, dear sister." Tyrion greets with a scowl. "I like the new hair."

Cersei stiffens on the throne before she speaks, "All this time… All this time I wondered what became of the monster that murdered my father and son." Her scowl curls into an evil smirk, "I thought even you were wise enough to know that showing your face here again would spell out certain death for you. I had _convinced_ myself I would never see you again. I _believed_ you'd died somewhere far away, and the thought gave me so much _delight_ I dared not think it untrue."

"Yet here I am." Tyrion says. "Kingslayer, Kinslayer, and Hand of the Queen. Allow me to introduce Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, and soon to be Queen of Westeros."

"Is that what you call her?" Cersei asks with a laugh rising in her throat. "Since she's with you, I assumed she was merely your new whore."

"Assuming anything about me will only make it easier to take back what is mine, Cersei Lannister." Daenerys says boldly, unafraid of the 'Mad Queen' before her. Cersei's smirk slides a little, but her expression remains callous as Dany goes on to say, "The throne you sit upon belongs to me. I've returned at long last to take back the kingdoms that are mine by birthright. I have an army that's much larger than yours, I have more allies than you have, and just in case you haven't heard, I have three dragons that follow my every command. That's what you face. Let there be no misunderstandings, I am here as a courtesy to my Hand. If not for Tyrion, we wouldn't be speaking right now. Your city would instead by under siege and there would be nothing you could do to stop it. You are his sister and I felt you deserved a chance to surrender and save the lives of all your men before facing complete annihilation."

Cersei tilts her head back, leaning confidently into the throne's iron barbs. Dany notices her hands are bleeding. "Eddard Stark thought to give me the same courtesy once. When he discovered that Jaime and I were the true parents of my children, he gave me a chance to leave before he told King Robert the truth. He said he did it so that I might spare my children's lives from Robert's wrath." Cersei's grin was maddening, her eyes shining with both rage and glee. "Eddard Stark discovered that my wrath far exceeded the King's—or any other, in fact. The High Sparrow learned this as well when I blew up the Sept. My only regret was not being there to see his dirty face when he realized the mistake he made crossing me. No doubt, right up until the very end, he was just as confident as you are now."

"Y'know, this might all just be a game to you, but this _isn't_ a game." Tyrion says, "This is real. You stand to lose everything. Not just your life and your power but the lives of all your men."

"The purpose of those men's lives are to protect their Queen, even unto death. They are only fulfilling their purpose, as far as I'm concerned." Cersei sighs, "You know I expected your threats to be more concrete. All I see is a child and an imp making tame extortions. If I'd known this was all you had to challenge me, I wouldn't have bothered meeting you at all. Is there anything else?"

"Perhaps I should allow Drogon to knock your doors down after-all so you might see how wrong you are." Daenerys says, growing annoyed but keeping her cool. She knew the Mad Queen would not make this easy.

"I'm well aware of your dragons. Quite fearsome indeed. Without them, though, I can't say I see much in you, dear. Pretty face, maybe, nice body, sure, but you're nothing more than a beggar coming for her daddy's wealth. Sorry to say you're too late. I will not surrender the throne nor my city."

Daenerys says, "Then there will be war."

Cersei says, "So be it."

"This is folly." Tyrion shakes his head, "Cersei, even you cannot be this naïve."

"Naïve was coming here without protection. My Mountain could cut the both of you down before you even leave, all he's waiting for is my word."

"The moment you do I'll call for Drogon." Daenerys says assertively. "I wonder if your ' _Mountain_ ' can withstand dragon fire?"

Both Queen's glare daggers at each other, neither backing down. Perhaps Tyrion knew where this was going, and that was why he changed the subject, "Tell me, sweet sister, where is our brother, Jaime? I was hoping to see him here, but…"

"He's away. That's all you need to know." Cersei snaps at him, "Jaime has no desire to ever see you again. He feels responsible for our father's death, you know, and he should. It was his weakness that caused our father's death in the end."

"Actually it was a bolt to the chest while he sat on the loo." Tyrion corrects her, wincing as the memories of that fateful night resurfaced. "It's a shame. I'd always heard father was so rich he could shit gold. I was disappointed to find out that wasn't the case."

"You _dare_ insult my father before me?!" Cersei's cold demeanor cracks, revealing her ugliness.

"The world is a better place without Tywin Lannister in it." Tyrion retorts, "And it will be an even better one once you're gone too. You know, father and the Mad King hated each other. I wonder what he would think if he could hear what they call his daughter now?"

"Get. Out." Cersei seethes between clenched teeth, her fingers buried in the blades of her throne, dripping blood all over the floor.

"Gladly." Daenerys says, "Enjoy your last night on this earth, Cersei. When the sun rises, look to the east; for three dragons and all of my ships _will_ be coming for you."

Cersei slowly shakes her head, grinning manically. "You are fools if you think I will let you take my city! My throne! My _crown_! I will see this city _burn_ before you ever sit where I am! _All of you will burn!_ _Men, women, children—Every last one of them will suffer before you ever take this throne away from me!_ " The Mad Queen's screams chased them all the way out of the throne room. Dany and Tyrion walked briskly, but with grace, so as not to show fear. In truth, Dany's heart was beating like a drum in her ears.

Once they were outside, Drogon growled as he lowered his head in for her to pet. Dany touches the cool, black scales on the dragon and feels reassured once more. She glances down at Tyrion, and is shocked to see him crying.

"What's wrong?" She asks, kneeling down and touching his shoulder gently.

Tyrion smiles, furiously wiping his eyes. "I used to love her, you know, and not even like a sister. When we were children, I thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world. I wondered all the time if my mother looked like her. I was jealous of Jaime for having her affections while I only received her disdain. Eventually I grew to despise her, but first there was _genuine_ love. I tried so hard to get her to like me. Nothing was ever good enough. I was always the little monster that murdered our mother coming into the world." He sniffs, looking up at Daenerys with sad determination. "I said it before, and I'll say it again; Cersei _must_ be taken down..."

* * *

Qyburn

"How did this happen, Qyburn?! How the _fuck_ did this _happen?!_ "

They were up in her chambers. Cersei was strolling back and forth across the floor with a goblet of wine in her hands, spilling it all over the place every time she turned to pace the other direction. Qyburn was seated at the table writing the letter to Jaime that Cersei had just finished spelling out for him. It was rather desperate, in his opinion, and when he informed the Queen that her brother would be too far in the north to make it back in time, Cersei had threatened to remove his head.

Cersei blamed Qyburn for not foreseeing this event. How could he? His little birds only extended as far as the city walls. He had no spies across the sea, not like Varys the Spider, whom she compared him to. Qyburn knew trying to explain reason to Cersei about this would prove dangerous, so instead he opted to lie again. "Rumors about Daenerys and her dragons have been circulating for years, Your Grace. Even you must've known about her. To give such rumors justification seemed unsightly at the time. I had no idea she was coming, however. Last I'd heard, she had a small force in Meereen, but that was it."

"Father knew this day would come." Cersei mutters to herself, not appearing to hear a word he'd said. "He knew she would be a threat one day. I didn't listen. I thought, _how could dragons possibly exist again?_ I believed it was all lies because those are exactly the sort of lies people tell themselves to sleep better at night. Dragons…" She glares out her window where, in the distance, she can see them… All three were soaring in circles. Their roars could be heard even from miles away… Cersei lifts her cup up and drinks the entire thing before lowering it and reaching for the pitcher automatically to refill.

As she spoke, Qyburn sealed the letter to Jaime and then unfurled a second piece of parchment. He began to write another letter, this one to his own brother in the citadel.

_My Dearest Brother, Marwyn_

_I know I don't write to you enough, for that I apologize. Your entire life you've been studying abroad the mystic nature of things whereas I've preferred to study the same in private. Our methods might be different but our dreams are the same. Today, I witnessed one of those dreams come to life before my eyes. Daenerys Targaryen is finally in King's Landing, like you always said she would. I never believed you, for that I also apologize. She has three full grown dragons with her. I was face to face with the black one she calls Drogon. To put it mildly, it was breathtaking to behold. It doesn't appear that I will be Hand of the Queen for long. In fact, I might be long dead by the time you read this. If so, then maybe it was for the best. You know how long I've yearned to comprehend what waits for us beyond this hell we call life. My only regret is that we never found a way to work together. We are brothers and I just wanted you to know that my last thoughts were with you._

"What are you writing?" Cersei asks suspiciously.

"I'm calling the banners, Your Grace." Qyburn says, "She had a good point, we need more allies."

"And what allies do we have left as our disposal?" Cersei sways drunkenly as she glares down at him from across the room. "Randyll Tarly is the only lord to swear fealty to us. We have 50,000 men at our disposal thanks to him. Look at her ships. How many men on each ship are there? Thirty? Forty? Her army can't be larger than mine if that's all she has brought."

"Yet she claims it is." Qyburn sighs, "I'm writing to Lord Frey. He is to bring all his soldiers to the capital at once. If they hurry, they should be here within a few days. We might be able to last until then."

Cersei barks with laughter. "The Late Walder Frey will never come to our aid and even if he did, his army of simpletons would hardly make a difference. It's Jaime I need."

"If Jaime has even reached Winterfell by now, he will not receive the letter within the week. After that it would take him near a month to get back. It would be… imprudent to believe we can last that long."

"You sound as though you've already given up." Cersei accuses, drinking her wine.

"Not quite." Qyburn says, "We still have wildfire…"

"Have your little birds finished setting it up?"

"They have."

"Then we might survive this yet, Qyburn." Cersei smirks. "Tell Randyll Tarly to have the eastern walls manned with as many soldiers that will fit on it. Blackwater Bay is going to go up in flames when the sun rises, and I want our entire army defending those walls when it does. Also, see that those ravens are sent out immediately. Leave me be for now."

"Yes, my Queen." He stands, folding the letters into his robes and bowing before he exits the chambers. Outside her door the Mountain stands guard, reeking of death. Qyburn smiles up to him before he descends the corridor.

Before heading to the ravenry, Qyburn goes down beneath the Red Keep to meet with several of his Little Birds. There were five in all. Qyburn considered them the more capable of all the children, and also the most willing. Qyburn gave them their commands and told them to spread the word for the rest. They would be up all night preparing for tomorrow's battle… and sacrifices would need to be made.

Once Qyburn makes his way up to the top of the tower that houses every raven in the city, he began to tie each of the letters to two of the white raven's legs. One was trained to fly for Winterfell while the other was trained for Oldtown. All around him the birds squawked loudly so that Qyburn could barely hear himself think. He steps across a floor riddled with bird droppings and opens the window, releasing each of his couriers out into the sky. Qyburn watches as they fly off into the snow in opposite directions, a small smile on his face. He closes the windows, and as they click shut, a cold, piercing pain in his stomach makes him gasp.

Qyburn looks down and sees a blade, thin as a needle, protruding from his belly. It slides back inside of his body, disappearing almost as quickly as it came. Qyburn tastes blood in his mouth and coughs, clutching the bird cages to keep from falling as ravens screamed all around him. He turns around to see who the owner of the blade is, and is shocked to find the little boy, Lommy, standing there holding the sword at his side, a blank, almost innocent look on his face. "W-Why?" He moans, collapsing weakly into the bird shit.

Then Qyburn watches as Lommy removes his face like a mask… It's a girl that stands before him now. She's smiling down at him, watching him suffer. "Who are you?" He asks.

"My name is Arya Stark."

 _Stark?!_ "You're… not dead." Qyburn wheezes as blood trails down his chin.

"No. I'm not. But you will be soon," Arya kneels down beside his feet, wiping needle over her lap to remove Qyburn's blood from it. "I want to know some things first."

Qyburn grins, and the involuntary reaction pains him. "What is it, child?"

"The Mountain. What is he, really?"

Qyburn hesitates before deciding there was no point hiding it. _Death has come for me. This little girl…_ "Why do you want to know?"

"You know why." Arya says, her voice flat and emotionless.

"The Mountain… he died from the poison Oberyn Martell laced his spear with… He is no longer _The Mountain_. He is Robert Strong… a shell of the man he once was…"

"Can he be killed?"

"He's already dead. So no, he cannot be killed. Brave men have tried." Qyburn coughs again. "If you are looking for a weakness, you're out of luck. A little sword like that can stab an old man like me but a behemoth in armor like him… a little girl like you… doesn't stand a chance against him."

"Everything has a weakness. He's dead but you brought him back." Arya states coldly, "How?"

"Magic." Qyburn smiles. "You might find that hard to believe." He coughs again, and his vision begins to cloud. _It's coming. I never thought… Dying like this… I suppose it's better than other ways to go._ His hand comes up from his belly, and his palm is red and sticky… "Any more questions?"

"No." Arya says, "Just need one more thing from you."

"What's that?"

She crawls up on top of him and tilts his head back. Qyburn screams as Needle carves the flesh of his face away. Her legs keep his arms pinned to the floor while she works. He squirms and squeals under her but her strength overpowers him. Qyburn's shrieks of agony are drowned in the endless babbling of the ravens.

* * *

Bran

Winter had iced over the swampy marshlands that belonged to the Crannogmen. Several times, the horse Bran and Meera shared would falter and slip, nearly sending Bran sprawling off. Luckily Meera was there to catch him whenever this happened. Up ahead the Hound and Tormund Giantsbane were leading the way. Tormund was describing Brienne of Tarth to the Hound like a poet describes a work of art while the Hound scowled, keeping his eyes on what little of the road could be seen beneath all the snow.

"Those broad shoulders and thick calves of hers! Let me tell you, Sandor! I can always spot a maiden—and that woman—that goddess, she's a maiden just waiting for the right man to come along and—"

"You do realize she and I tried to kill each other, right?" The Hound grumbles.

Tormund barks, "Aye, and you lost, didn't ya!? That's my girl. Ha-ha! I swear to all the bloody Gods that if these swamp people touched her or hurt her, I'll—"

"Shut up! The both of you!" Meera snaps at them. All around them, the white woods were whispering. Bran could hear it, though not the words they spoke. _They're here_ , he realizes, and is horrified when both the Hound and Tormund draw their blades. Before they can do anything, Meera shouts, "My name is Meera Reed! I am the daughter of Howland Reed! I've come home, and I bring with me Lord Brandon of House Stark!"

Then they appear like ghosts taking form from amidst the trees. Bran had only ever heard stories of the Crannogmen. Some were wild tales of men and women who ate frogs and slept with lizard-lions. His father had always spoke fondly of Howland Reed, but warned Bran that the Crannogmen who followed him were a shady community that were not to be trifled with. They were green-skinned and covered in mud. They wore white pelts of fur to keep them warm in the snow, and to also help blend them in, for after a few seconds Bran realized they were completely surrounded by fifty of them carrying three-pronged spears.

"Are they going to attack us?" Tormund asks with a paranoid glare at Meera.

"No. They wouldn't reveal themselves if they were." Meera replies with a smirk. "You're all my father's men. Take us to Greywater Watch!"

They do just that.

It doesn't take long to get there. As they trot their horses through the swampy mists, they come across a giant tower hiding within it, surrounded by thick trees and huts. The growl of some lizard-lion reaches his ears but when he looks around none can be seen, for the fog is blinding. The roaring and cackling of a fire is the next thing he hears, and the fog clears away as they approach the keep…

A grand pyre is erected in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by thousands of silent watchers. Standing on board the wood is a man bound, gagged, and naked. A woman in red is chanting something unintelligible at first, holding the flaming torch in her hands. Beside him is a shriveled old man with a walking stick who has his back turned to Bran as they come upon this strange and bewildering sight. "The night is dark and full of terrors!" The Red Woman cries and the crowd of thousands repeat it under their breath. "Before you all stands a sinner! His crimes lay bare for all to witness! The Lord of Light's will shall shine down upon you today, Euron Greyjoy; let your soul open up to the fate that awaits you!"

The naked man tries to yell through his wooden gag at her, but all that comes out it a muffled gurgle as saliva oozes down his bearded cheek.

"What is going on?!" Meera shouts, catching the attention of the immediate crowd, however her voice is nearly drowned in the chanting of "THE NIGHT IS DARK AND FULL OF TERRORS!" that engulfed them. Howland Reed doesn't hear them at first. The Red Woman raises the torch, about to light the pyre. "FATHER!" Meera roars over the chanting.

Howland turns his head and his eyes land upon his daughter. "Meera?" He squints, then his disfigured jaw drops. He abandons the Red Woman's side, who stops what she's about to do to watch as the leader of the Crannogmen moves faster than any old man Bran had ever seen through the sea of his people, shoving them out of his way.

"Father!" Meera grins, tears in her eyes as Howland appears before them. She drops off the horse, helping Bran down into the wooden casket that he could be dragged in. By the time this is done, Howland swoops in and embraces Meera, tears spilling out of his eyes as well. Meera had informed Bran of her father's greyscale, but he had no idea just how bad it looked in person. It was like he wasn't even human, but some deformed looking creature that once resembled a human…

"I thought you were dead!" He moans, dropping down to his knees with her and sobbing loudly. Several of his men had tears in their eyes as well, watching the scene unfold. "Oh thank the gods! You're alive! _You're alive_!" Meera sniffs, pulling away from him as he scans her company. "Where is your brother?"

"Jojen… He didn't make it… I'm so sorry, father…"

Howland goes from completely relieved to downright heartbroken as his cracked lips quiver. "No… He always said it wasn't his day to die…"

Meera kisses his cheek, smiling. "He died for a good cause. Dad, I have Brandon Stark with me."

"So I see." Howland looks down at Bran, who can only smile back at him from his casket. Bran cannot tell if it is disdain from the loss of his son, or the presence of Bran himself that causes Howland to frown at him. "I thought you dead as well, boy."

"Most do." Bran sighs. "If you don't mind my asking, Lord Reed, what is it that's going on here?"

Howland glances back at the Red Woman, who looks uncertainly back at him. "We have captured the leader of the Greyjoy army invading our lands. Euron Greyjoy is to be executed by fire for his crimes. It's nothing to concern yourselves with. Perhaps we should go and speak inside my home?"

"First thing's first. Where's Brienne?" Tormund growls, still holding his sword.

"Brienne?" Howland raises an eyebrow at him, though Bran thinks Howland says the name all-too casually not to know the name. "You mean the swornsword to Sansa Stark? We released her some time ago. As soon as she told me her story, I had no reason to keep her."

"I told you." Meera smirks.

"How did you know she was here?" Howland asks, sounding curious.

"Her squire found me." speaks The Hound, glaring at Howland. He had his sword put away and his arms crossed, but his tone of voice suggested distrust of the Crannogmen Leader. "Told me your men captured her for no reason and took her away. Why didn't we pass her on the way here?"

"The north is a big place." Howland shrugs, not meeting the Hound's eyes. "I cannot explain why. All I can assure you is that she's not here."

"I'll believe it when I see it." Tormund says, "I'm going to take a look around. Any of you try and stop me—"

"By all means, good man. Please, I insist. I don't want there to be any trouble." Howland smiles, and he orders several of his men to guide Tormund Giantsbane to their pits.

The man on the spire suddenly wrenches his mouth free of the wooden bar in his mouth and shouts directly at Bran, "PLEASE! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME! I'M INNOCENT, I TELL YOU! THESE PEOPLE ARE ALL FUCKING MAD! YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME! YOU HAVE TO SAVE ME! PLEASE! HELP—" The Red Woman ignites the pyre and Howland's please turn into piercing shrieks of terror and pain. The flames catch quickly, spreading up his legs and torso, melting his flesh. Euron doesn't die right away. He screams on and on even as his eyes burst and his bones shine through, until he becomes nothing but a charred corpse…

" _The night is dark and full of terrors_!" The Red Woman shouts and the crowd of on-lookers repeats it. Bran feels sick to his stomach. Meera too can hardly believe her eyes. Howland however, hardly seems concerned at all, and is smiling down at his daughter. _I recognize that woman from somewhere…_ Bran tries to remember… then it hits him. _She's the woman that was being tortured in my last vision! It's her! It has to be her!_

"I've seen her." He says out loud to both Meera and Howland. "In the last vision I had, back at Winterfell. She was in it just for a second, but I remember it… She was being whipped by some dark skinned man with a long beard…"

"What do you mean… _vision_?" Howland asks.

Bran knew this was it. This was the reason he came here to meet Howland Reed. "I'm the new Three-Eyed Raven."

Howland Reed studies Bran at first, his words washing over him. Then the old, crack-faced man grins. "After Ned died, my son, Jojen, came to me and said that you were important. He told me he needed to find you, to help you find the Three-Eyed Raven beyond The Wall. He insisted the White Walkers were real. In honor of Jojen's memory, I believe him. I want to believe he could truly see the future. So tell me, Brandon Stark. Can _you_?"

"I don't know." Bran admits. "I can see the past but the future… it all comes it flashes, and I can never tell if what I'm seeing is really the future of if it's actually the past. I honestly don't really know how to control this power…"

"The Three-Eyed Raven was once revered as a God among the Children of the Forest, according to ancient legends." Howland says, standing up on his walking stick. "Today, society calls him 'The Old Gods' and we worship the weirwood trees that the Children carved so that the Three-Eyed Raven would be have to bear witness to all happenings. The trees are the key to your power, Bran. You should come with me."

"I want to know more about Rhaegar Targaryen." Bran says as Meera goes to lift up his casket. "I know you were there that day at the Tower of Joy with my father…" Howland's expression stiffens and grows ugly, his eyes glaring at Bran all of the sudden. Bran keeps going anyway, "I know who Jon's real parents are, and so does he. What I don't understand is why Rhaegar stole Lyanna away from Robert when he was already married, starting a war… I need to understand because… because somehow this is important—somehow this is what Jojen, your son, wanted me to find. Is there anything you can tell me, Lord Reed?"

There was clearly an internal debate taking place in Howland's mind that Bran just didn't understand. "There is a lot I can tell you, Lord Stark… but I think it would be better to _show_ you."

* * *

Sansa

"My Lady, I—"

"Thank you, you may go now." Sansa says to her handmaiden harshly. She has her back to her so Sansa can't see the girl's reaction to being fired. All she heard was the sniff of tears before her door slams shut, and Sansa was left alone again.

 _Never again._ She takes her brush and begins to comb her long, red hair herself. It was brushed so often she hardly needed to spend much time on it. _I don't need a handmaiden for this. I can do my own duties myself._ She tells herself as she begins to apply make-up to her lips and eyelashes, watching her own reflection with an empty expression. _If Jon wants to spy on me, I'm not going to make it easy for him._

Below her tower, Sansa could see out her window that many of the northern lords were arriving today. She recognized the flapping flags of Houses Manderly, Mormont, Glover, and Cerwyn. No sign of the Reeds, however… _Bran only left last week. They won't be here for a while. Why is Jon holding the summit early then?_

Her bedroom door knocked and Sansa knew right away who it was. "You may enter."

Petyr Baelish came inside, his hands folded behind his back. "My Lady," He bows, "The other lords have finally arrived. Jon Snow is already down in the Grey Hall awaiting us…The time to act is now."

"Are you prepared?" Sansa asks him, needing to be sure.

Littlefinger smirks. "Of course I'm prepared, it's you I'm concerned about."

"Don't be. This is what I want."

"You realize they will call it treason?"

"I won't have him executed if that's what you're asking."

"That will depend entirely on how Jon Snow reacts. This can go down a number of ways… luckily, your _cousin_ is a noble, and honorable man." Littlefinger reaches out and touches her hand. "Have no fear, my lady. I will do most of the talking. Do you remember what you need to say?"

Sansa nods her head solemnly. _He'll hate me after this._

"What about Howland Reed? Don't we need his testimony?" Sansa asks him, sounding less confident than she looked. _At least Bran won't be here to witness this…_

Littlefinger only shook his head, sighing. "We don't need him. _Trust_ me, my lady. Everything will work out in the end."

* * *

Jon

The Grey Hall was empty when Jon first took his place at the head of the table. Outside the morning light was barely peeking through the windows. Snow had stopped falling today.

Jon Snow rested his hands upon the wooden surface, his eyes closed, breathing heavily. _This is it_. The giant doors opened.

Sansa entered, dressed in a black gown. Her hair was tied elegantly behind her head in an ornate bun. Shadows under her eyes told him she hadn't slept… As she walked slowly across the hall, they faced one another and nodded. Then she took her seat at his side. By the time she had gripped the chair, the doors opened again. Lord Baelish entered, his black cloak swirling around his legs. Beside him was Lord Robin Arryn of the Vale. The young lord strode in like he owned the place, scowling up at the gloomy, dark walls and ceiling with discomfort. Behind them were fifty knights of the Vale and Lord Yohn Royce. Littlefinger took his place on Jon's other side, as opposed to his usual place next to Sansa. "Greetings, Your Grace." Baelish says as he sits, "You're here early."

"Couldn't sleep." Jon admits, glancing at his sister. Sansa's eyes were firmly planted on the table in front of her, her expression a pale mask. _What's wrong?_ He wants to ask, though not with Littlefinger so close… Instead he turns to the young boy who takes his seat beside his step-father. "Is this the brave Lord Robin Arryn everyone has told me about?"

The young boy doesn't fall for his flattery, and Jon can tell right away there would be no winning him over. Lord Robin Arryn scowls at him. "I don't care who you are. There's a hundred kings out there, you're no special from any of the others. I wouldn't even be here if my father—"

"Forgive Lord Arryn, Your Grace!" Littlefinger interrupts with a hearty chuckle, mussing with Robin's hair the way Jon used to muss up Arya's. "He begged me not to come. However once I explained that the importance of this meeting—"

"You said I could see the giant's body!" Robin shouts at Littlefinger, "When do we go see it?!"

"Soon, My Lord. Soon." Littlefinger chuckles again. "May I ask ahead of time what this _war summit_ might consist of? Forgive me, Your Grace, but last we discussed you were against going to war."

Jon sighs, "You'll be disappointed that I still am."

"Then how exactly is this a _war_ summit?"

"You'll find out." Jon says dismissively, feeling no desire to speak any further with the man. Wun-Wun's body was burned after the battle. Once winter was over, Jon would have men build a statue of the giant in the courtyard, in honor of his memory… _Littlefinger, do the lies ever end?_

The doors open again and this time it is Lord Manderly and thirty of his soldiers bearing the white merman over a blue-green field. His bushy, white hair bounced as he announced his presence and greeted Jon with joy. Jon smiles as Lord Manderly takes his place at the table while the rest of his men sit down beneath them in one of the long tables across from the knights of the Vale. Next enters Lord Glover and fifteen of his men, bearing the sigil of an armored silver fist on a red field. Then Lord Cerwyn and twenty of his men with their black battle-axe on a silver field. Only four of Tormund's Free Folk were permitted for the War Summit, for there were far too few of them left anymore but they were the ones with authority. Before long the Grey Hall was booming with conversation and laughter. Lady Mormont was the last to enter, leading only three men, all of whom were battle-scarred and limping from injuries. Lady Mormont took her place at the table in-between Lords Cerwyn and Glover, and asks, "Where is the young Lord Brandon Stark?"

"He is away on a sensitive diplomatic mission." Jon answers. Lady Mormont seems impressed instead of saddened. _When did my little brother become so popular?_ He wondered with a smile.

"And who might you be?" Lady Mormont asks Lord Arryn and the young boy gawks at her.

"I am Lord Robin Arryn of the Vale!" He shouts and the Grey Hall's laughter dies down, all eyes watching them.

Lady Mormont raises an eyebrow. "I've never heard of you."

This was probably not true. Lady Mormont was hardly uninformed. Lord Robin's eyes bulged and his cheeks flushed red. He opened his mouth, no doubt to shout, but Littlefinger shook the young boy's shoulder and whispered in his ear. Lord Robin's mouth clamped shut and he scowled in silence at her.

Jon Snow took this as an opportune time to begin. He stood up, and the silence became absolute, everyone waiting on their King of the North. _Will I ever get used to this?_ "My Lords and Ladies, thank you all for coming. I recognize House Reed and the Brotherhood without Banners have not arrived yet. The former has yet to swear allegiance and the latter has taken the Twins in the Neck—their journey would take too long for the matters at hand. We must begin without them, unfortunately."

There are murmurs throughout the hall, most in approval. Jon continues, "It's come to my attention that a woman named Daenerys Targaryen is sailing for Westeros as we speak." as soon as the word _Targaryen_ left his mouth, the room grumbled as though aggravated. "She could be in King's Landing right now or she could still be miles away. The fact is that she is coming and she has three full grown dragons under her control as well as an army."

"How did you come by this information exactly?" Littlefinger asks over the crowd's bustling.

Jon frowns at him. "A trusted source in the citadel sent me a raven." More murmurs in the crowd, this time of suspicion and distrust. The other lords at his table were also watching him with wrinkled brows and narrowed eyes. Jon knew how he must sound… but as King he had to make it clear. "He would never lie to me. It wasn't long ago I would've thought this was a jest. But if there are dragons coming then we need them in the war to come against the army of the dead!"

Littlefinger smirks, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. "Alright, so where did your _trusted source_ learn this information from?"

"He is a maester." Jon tells him.

Lord Baelish asks, "If that's true, then how would he learn about this supposed Dragon Queen that comes to destroy us all?"

More angry murmurs sprung up from all the men in the hall at the end of these words. "I never said she comes to destroy us!" Jon shouts over them, "It doesn't matter how he found out—I trust him never to lie to me, especially when this information could save us all."

"From this supposed threat in the north you keep speaking of. _The Army of the Dead_." Littlefinger rolls his eyes and Lord Robin giggles loudly at his side. "Do you have any evidence of this?"

"I've seen them. So have the Free Folk. So have the Night's Watch." Jon tells him angrily. "I'm not lying to any of you right now. They are coming and so is she."

"The last dragon died hundreds of years ago." Says Lady Mormont, "How could she have three full grown ones?"

"I don't know." Jon says.

"How big is this army of hers?" Asks Lord Manderly.

"I don't know." Jon says again.

"Where did she come from? How is this possible?" Asks Lord Glover.

"I don't know!"

"It appears you don't know much." Littlefinger scoffs, and Jon felt an impulse to hit him. _He is being especially brazen today. Why? Is he putting on a show for the others?_ This insult divided the room. Half laughed while the other roared with anger. The laughers, he noticed, were mostly knights of the Vale. Robin Arryn also found this quite amusing, his chair rocking loudly as he barked out laughter.

"You speak to your King, Littlefinger." Growls Lord Cerwyn.

"The King in the North, yes, I'm well aware." Littlefinger smirks, "Perhaps our King is not as honest as he would have the rest of you believe."

"What are you saying?" Lord Manderly asks over the screaming northerners.

Littlefinger waits until the room quiets down before he answers. "I'm suggesting the King has ulterior motives. After-all, why would a Stark seek the aid of a Targaryen after the horrors they committed against their family?"

Jon was baffled, and remembered their conversation in the crypts. _He knows. He knows who I am, who I really am. How? How does he know? How could he possibly?_ "I swear to you all, my motives are pure. I would have us all march south to King's Landing today and make alliances with both Daenerys and Cersei before they can go to war with each other! We need everyone we can on our side! It doesn't matter what happened in the past! What matters is that we find a way to survive the future!"

To his relief, many men in the crowd cheer. All of the sudden nearly half the room is up off their seats and crying "THE KING IN THE NORTH!" Jon stands and raises his hands to quiet the room once more. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, however. I would appoint Sansa as Warden in the North in my stead while I go south. She would rule until my return."

At this, Sansa looks up at him for the first time that morning, her eyes glazed over with shock. He smiles down at her. "We also need to leave a substantial force behind in case The Wall does fall and the white walkers invade. Lord Arryn, I would ask your knights of the Vale to do this."

The young lord scowls and picks at a piece of chipped wood on the table. "I'll let Father decide." He sighs heavily, "I don't really care as long as I have knights to protect me at home."

Littlefinger stood up then, facing Jon at first before turning to the other lords. "The Vale is loyal to House Stark." He says slowly, "That is why, I'm afraid, I must refuse, Your Grace."

"Not this again." Growls Lord Manderly. "It doesn't matter that he's a Bastard, Baelish. He is still our King and Stark blood runs through his veins!"

"He's not a Stark…"

Jon looked down at his sister, at complete loss for words. She sat frozen in her chair, facing everyone with a cold, blank stare. _Did she really just say that?_

"What do you mean?" Asks Lady Mormont.

"He is not my brother." Sansa announces, "He is—"

"Sansa…" Jon says softly, and she stops. They meet each other's eyes and he realizes at once the truth behind everything. _You know nothing, Jon Snow_. He turns to the rest of the noble lords and ladies, knowing what he must do now. "She speaks the truth… I am the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark."

Perhaps he expected more shouts, more cries, more protests… Instead all he got was silence. Nobody said anything. An awkward tension followed his words. Jon saw dawning realization on each and every one of their faces. Shock. Awe. Disbelief. It was all there at first… Then…

"This is an outrage!" Bellows Lord Manderly, "You lied to us?! This whole time!"

"Calm down, let him speak." Says Lord Glover, though his voice shook with insecurity, frowning at Jon from across the table. "Surely this must be a lie, Your Grace?"

"It's no lie." Jon sighs, "I am Targaryen in truth before I am a Stark."

"The only lie is the one that got you where you are today." Littlefinger says, and there are cries of approval from the knights of the Vale.

"Aye, I lied. I only just found out a fortnight ago!" Jon yells over them, "I knew it would cause a problem and we have bigger problems at hand!"

"According to you." Littlefinger says, "I would argue that _this_ is a very big problem. The King of the North has always been a _Stark_. How can we follow a man with the same blood of the _Mad King_? A man who only comes clean when the truth is forced out of him?" The other lords, all except Lady Mormont, glare at Jon. The love they once had for him had dissolved into hate. _This is the power a name has… The power your own blood holds over you…_

What Littlefinger says next, Jon saw coming, and was powerless to stop. "I notion to remove Jon Snow, or Jon _Targaryen_ , from his position for his confessed treason. Let us follow a true Stark, one who would not have us freeze to death fighting imagined enemies in the north, but real enemies that want to see us dead in the south!"

The approval from the crowd was tremendous. All of the knights of the Vale were on their feet, shouting indiscriminately. Many of the other northerners were getting up and shouting as well—though it was impossible to make out anything they cried. Jon raised his hands to silence them, but this time it didn't work… It wasn't until Sansa stood that the room quieted.

"Lord Baelish is wrong!" She announces to everyone's utter shock. "Jon did not willingly commit treason. He was elected before he knew the truth about his blood." Jon didn't understand why she was standing up for him now…

"He is still blood of the dragon." Growls Lord Cerwyn. "This is unacceptable. We've been lied to!"

"His mother was a Stark!" Lady Mormont shouts over the rest of the crowd, "We elected him because he is our rightful King! I don't care what blood he has, who his father was, or what he decides to keep to himself! _He is my King_!"

"The Targaryens have madness in their blood!" Lord Manderly says, "Everyone knows it! How can we trust _him_ now?!"

"We can't." Littlefinger sighs, "Which is why we should put it to a vote."

Jon felt like he was slowly being backed up into a corner. How could he stop this? _What do I say?_

_You know nothing, Jon Snow._

Sansa says, "If I am elected Queen I will take our forces south, but not to make peace. Together we are nearly 50,000 strong to the Lannister's 30,000. The Mad Queen thinks she is safe behind her walls, but the realm hates her. Dorne, The Reach, every kingdom in Westeros wants her dead." Her words are well received. Lord Manderly and Cerwyn are both nodding with approval, much to Jon's dread. "As the Queen of the North, I would see the Mad Queen answer for her crimes against my family!"

"Are we really discussing this?" Lord Glover asks with a scowl. "There's never been a Queen in the north. What of Brandon Stark? He is a male! He is next in line, isn't he?"

"Lord Brandon is a crippled boy with no knowledge of war or politics, he is not the King the North requires right now. Times are changing, Lord Glover." Littlefinger raises his eyebrow at the man across from him, "Perhaps it's time you caught up."

"Our King is standing right here!" Lady Mormont bellows angrily at them. "How can you so easily betray him!?"

"We're the ones who are betrayed!" Lord Manderly thunders, "I believed in him! I trusted him! And now I find out he's been hiding the truth from us!" There are tears of pain in the old man's eyes as he glares at Jon. "Were you ashamed of it? Is that why? Born of rape from a line of insanity…"

"I'd want to hide it too." Lord Baelish sighs, "Sadly he _did_ hide it. You've been silent for a while, Your Grace. Any final words before we proceed?"

Jon stares in bewilderment at the lords around him, feeling like he was seventeen again, having no place at the table… "I…" He pauses, his heart beating in his ears. "I beg of you all, please, try and see the larger picture here. _The Dead are coming!_ None of this matters! Stark, Lannister, Targaryen— _the Dead will kill us all_!"

"If by some unforeseeable miracle they make it over The Wall." adds Littlefinger. He looks pleased as the crowds of men all laughed, all but the few wildlings who scowled, gripping the hilts of their swords. "If that is all, I think now is the time. Nearly everyone in this room voted you as our King last time. Are we all in favor of voting again, this time between a Stark and a Targaryen?"

The uproar was deafening. _I'm King of the North and I'm powerless to stop this. Sansa…_ Jon looked to his sister… but she had eyes only for the crowd, a small, fierce smile upon her lips.

When Jon's name was called, Lady Mormont and her three injured warriors stood, raising their swords. The few free folk did as well. Jon had hoped by some miracle the other noble lords would follow. The knights of the vale, Jon knew, would already vote for Sansa. But if Manderly, Glover, and Cerwyn sided with Jon then he would have more… Yet when Sansa's name was called, Manderly rose, followed closely by Cerwyn… Then Lord Glover gave Jon a rueful grimace before standing and raising his blade, joining the countless others… It was an overwhelming majority…

Littlefinger grins, showing his teeth at Jon. "All hail Sansa Stark, The Queen in the North!"

"The Queen in the North!" Cries Lord Manderly.

"The Queen in the North!" Rumbles Lord Glover.

"The Queen in the North!" Shouts Lord Cerwyn.

"THE QUEEN IN THE NORTH!" Thunders the Grey Hall so all in Winterfell would hear.

Suddenly Knights of the Vale were approaching Jon from both sides. He gripped Longclaw but they grabbed a hold of his arms before he could draw. The uproar transformed into shouts. Jon sees the Wildlings draw their swords, followed by a chorus of Vale knights pulling theirs out in reply. " _No! Stop_!" Jon screams at them, "I command all of you to _stand down_!"

"Release him." Sansa says quietly and the Knights of the Vale immediately follow her command instead of his. "Jon, you have been my brother for as long as I've known you. You will not be tried for treason nor will you be treated as a criminal for as long as I rule. I have no intention of hurting you, so please, everyone, calm down." Sansa was glaring at Littlefinger as she spoke, and her voice had a forcefulness Jon had never heard in her before.

"What shall we do with him then?" Littlefinger asks with narrowed eyes, appearing displeased for the first time that day. "He cannot stay here, not after this."

"You don't make those decisions, Lord Baelish." Sansa's smile widens. "I do now. Jon wants to go find Daenerys Targaryen. I will allow him to do so." She doesn't look at him as she speaks, only to the crowd. "He may bring as many of you who wish to follow him. I will not consider it a slight. Please. I would rather he take as many as he can. In fact… Take all the wildlings…" Sansa's expressions tightens as she continues on, "We do not have enough room and food to help them any longer. We've given you all we can. Now is the time your people find a new home in the south. Winter is here and it is no longer safe for any of us to stay here. Soon, we will march south ourselves, before it's too late. We will survive the winter in the south before returning to Winterfell and all of our homes... But not before I have the Mad Queen's head!"

Jon Snow slowly descends the stairs. All eyes watched him walk down the center of the Grey Hall, their cheering of "Queen of the North!" booming over and over again. Before he left, Jon turned and looked back at Sansa. Her face was pointed in his direction but it was clear at once she was the only one in the room not looking at him. It was as though her eyes were staring straight through him, empty and emotionless… Like he wasn't even there at all.

* * *

Bran

The weirwood grove inside Greywater Watch held three overgrown, white trees. Each had a face crying red tears like all the rest. The ground was uneven, sprawling with roots that reminded him of the Three-Eyed Raven's lair. "I've never seen three weirwood trees next to each other like this." He remarks as Meera helps him into the center between all three of them. He felt, like always, a strange presence from them—intensified by the fact that there were three, bleeding faces bearing down on him instead of one.

"There's only one other place in the world that has this many… or had, at least, before they were all destroyed." Howland sighs, touching the bark of one of them with a sad expression. "The roots are all intertwined beneath you there… If the legends of the Three-Eyed Raven are true, then you should enter your vision-state when you grasp the roots where they all meet. Be positive, kid. Perhaps having three instead of one tree will help you in some unpredictable way."

Bran examines the roots, all jumbled together in a knot beside him. "Where am I going?" He asks.

"The Tournament at Harrenhal. It was the year before Robert's Rebellion, if that helps." Howland says.

"It might." Bran says, knowing only what Maester Luwin had taught him about the famous tourney that triggered Robert's Rebellion. "What do I look for?"

"Just find me and follow me wherever I go, understand?" Howland asks and Bran nods…

As soon as his palm grasps the giant knot of tangled roots, Bran's reality washes away and he is taken more than twenty years into the past…

* * *

The Hound

Sandor Clegane didn't understand any of the shit these people were talking about, or why the fuck the Stark boy's eyes were rolled up into his head like he was dead, yet he found himself speechless and helpless to stop any of it. After-all, it's what the Stark boy wanted to do. He was here to protect him… _but how do I protect him when he's as limp as a fish?_

Howland Reed was standing beside the Red Woman, whispering to her. The Hound watched them from across the grove, leaning against one of the weirwood trees with his arms crossed over his armored chest. "Hey." He growls at the man, catching his attention.

Howland glares back at him. "What is it?"

"Why's your skin like that? You look like something I shat out last week."

"Watch your mouth!" Meera Reed barks furiously.

Howland chuckles. "It's alright, dear. Not all men have tact. I appreciate your honesty… though I'm afraid your name escapes me."

"You wouldn't know me." He growls, "I'm only here to protect the kid."

"I'll hold you to that." Howland smirks. "I received Greyscale from a merchant traveling in the swamp."

The Hound stares hard at him. "A merchant?"

"Yes."

"Didn't know merchants could sell diseases." The Hound sniffs.

"This one did. It was disguised as a love potion…"

"That's odd." The Hound says.

"What is?"

"A merchant came into your swamp with a love potion that gave you greyscale… and you don't find anything odd about it?"

"He turned quite a profit from me. I was desperate for anything I could get my hands on back then." Howland sighs, examining his frail, deformed hands. "I'd give anything to go back to that day, find out who that merchant was, and make him pay for what he did. But he was gone as quickly as he appeared. None of the Crannogmen could find him, and I had thousands searching for days."

Just then Tormund returned, storming into the grove and looking around with bulging eyes. "I couldn't find her." He says in a deep, gravelly voice, facing Howland Reed. "But that doesn't mean she's gone."

"Enough!" Meera shouts, standing between her father and the wildling with her spear in hand. "I will not stand by and allow you to make any more wild accusations! My father is an honest man! If he says he released her then he has!"

Several Crannogmen were surrounding Tormund, their spears pointed in his direction. The Hound remained rooted to his spot, determined to stay out of anything the big, dumb wildling decided to do. _As long as nobody tries stabbing the Stark boy, I see no reason to care about this._ The Hound continues to watch anyway, and is amazed when Tormund sheathes his sword…

"Fine." The wildling grunts. "I'll be watching you, Reed."

"This is completely unnecessary." Meera shakes her head. "Brienne is probably back at Winterfell by now. We just missed her in all this snow. Father… Jon Snow has invited you to meet with him in Winterfell. He told us to tell you before we left."

Howland Reed could not hide the hatred in his eyes from The Hound, who was still watching silently, as soon as Jon Snow's name was mentioned. Nor did he seem surprised by this news. "I expected this sooner or later." he admits, "If the King of the North demands my audience, then he shall have it…" Howland turns and looks at his men, who are gaping at him. "For the first time in over a hundred years, the Crannogmen will leave the marshes… We make way for Winterfell at once."

"What about us?" Meera asks.

"You must stay here with Bran. He is safest here for now, and he still has much to learn from the weirwood." Howland says dismissively, looking to The Hound. "Will you stay here and protect my child while I'm away, Ser?"

"I'm no knight." The Hound retorts, "But yes, I'll stay. I swore an oath to protect the Stark boy. Might as well protect the girl."

"I'm going with you." Tormund announces, "My people are waiting for me. If Brienne is there, then I must find her; and if she isn't." He gets real close to Howland then, almost right in his face. "You better hope she is."

Howland just leers up at the large, intimidating, red-haired force of nature and says, "It's settled then."

* * *

Daenerys

It was the night before the battle would commence and Daenerys Targaryen was sitting over the railing of The Red Wind, watching Viserion and Rhaegal play with each other in the sky above, the moon above making them appear like great winged shadows. Drogon was resting aboard the ship's deck beside her, a deep purr rumbling in his throat as she caressed his snout. The Red Keep loomed over the Blackwater Bay while torchlights danced atop the walls. Thousands of them in all. Tyrion was right. It looked from here as though Cersei had moved her entire army to the eastern walls as they'd planned. When morning comes, the Mad Queen will find a very unwelcome surprise at her western side. The Dothraki, Martells, and Tyrells had departed south of where they were now near Storm's End so that Cersei wouldn't know. By now they were amassing for the assault…

Her stomach squirmed nervously the more she thought about it. Footsteps alerted her and Drogon, approaching them from behind. Dany sees Jorah Mormont appear from the shadows, smiling at her. She returns the look and beckons for him to join her on the railing. Jorah climbs up onto the wood beside her and says, "I wish you would've let me come with you today."

"I know you do." She replies softly, "It wasn't necessary."

"And tomorrow, when we are at war…"

"I need you below the city stopping the wildfire, we already discussed this." Dany says, her tone implying it wasn't up for debate.

"What if I can't stop it? What if there's simply too much to get to? I'm taking a hundred men with me, but even if we all split up on our own and find as many barrels as we can, we still will never know if it's enough."

"Then you will search until you know it is." Dany tells him, "Why must you make this so difficult?"

"Because you need me at your side in battle! I cannot lose you!" Jorah cries, gingerly taking her hand in his and kissing it.

Dany smiles at him, touching his cheek. "You have always been so protective of me. I truly appreciate everything you've done… Have faith in me. Have faith in my dragons and our soldiers. I will be up in the sky above it all. You have no need to fear."

"I have every reason in the world to fear. If I lost you…and there was something I could've done to protect you, I'd never forgive myself, Daenerys."

Dany says, "If the wildfire goes off, it will kill thousands of innocent people, and I could never forgive myself if I let that happen… Jorah, my love…"

"I understand." Jorah nods, the wrinkles in his forehead creased as he glowers down into the sea, deep in thought. "I will do my best, Daenerys. That's all I can promise."

She cups his chiseled and grizzly face in her hand, leans in, and kisses him. When she breaks away, she whispers, "Will you watch the stars with me?"

"I must go soon, the men are waiting for me… but yes, I can stay for now." Jorah smiles. He wraps his warm, mutated arm around her and together they sit for a while, looking up into the dark distances of the night sky.

* * *

Cersei

The stein of wine was empty. _So soon? I've just refilled it. Huh._ She lifts it and takes it to her pantry where three more tankards of wine await her. She stumbles as she pours herself another goblet. Then she sways back to where she sat perched all night on the balcony over Blackwater Bay and empties the wine down her throat. It burns as though swallowing fire, but Cersei demands more, and pours herself what must be the thirtieth cup that day. _Will I be Queen?_ She remembers asking Maggy the Frog when she was a child. _Oh yes, you'll be Queen... Until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all you hold dear._

"I am the Queen." She mutters to herself, sipping at her wine. "I am the Queen… I am the Queen…" _That old hag didn't know what she was on about… "_ I am the Queen…" _But she was right about Joffrey…_ She drinks. _Myrcella…_ She pours. _Tommen…_ She drinks. _All three dead… Just as Maggy the Frog predicted._ She pours. "I am the Queen…" She drinks. "I am the—"

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

The trance broken, Cersei glares at the door from across her chamber. Who could be knocking at this hour? Qyburn? Or is it The Mountain asking for to take a bathroom break? The thought amused her and she cracks a smirk, ignoring the continued knocking as she pours herself another cup. "Come in!" She calls.

The door opens and Qyburn enters. Cersei notices at once that he is alone. As usual, he is wearing his black robes with the Hand of the Queen pinned to his chest. His hair seemed a little more unkempt, however, and Cersei attributed it to stress. Qyburn smiles as he bows low. "Your Grace." He greets respectfully.

"Where is The Mountain?" She asks, sipping at her goblet from her perch.

"I've sent him away for a moment to deal with some stragglers from The Rebellion. Apparently there are those out there who still believe in The Iron Bull's declaration."

Cersei snorts. " _Iron Bull_. Who cares what some sick peasants believe in anymore? I want The Mountain guarding me at _all times_ , Qyburn, we've been over this already. There is an army at my bloody gates with three dragons—Needless to say I have bigger concerns right now."

"My apologizes, Your Grace. He will be back soon enough, I promise you."

"Why are you here?" Cersei asks in a bored tone of voice. "I don't recall asking for your interruption."

"I just wished to inform you that all the preparations for tomorrow's battle are ready, Your Grace… and to see if you would like to discuss anything further?" Qyburn smiles at her and Cersei narrows her eyes back at him over her cup. _He already told me the preparations for the battle were ready earlier, didn't he?_

"Alright." Cersei sighs, deciding maybe talking to someone instead of herself would prove more enlightening. "Take a seat, Qyburn. Allow me to tell you a story."

"I, _erm_ , I'd prefer to stand, Your Grace." Qyburn stammers, "My hip has been acting up on me lately and it hurts to sit down."

Cersei waves her hand drunkenly, pouring herself another glass while Qyburn steps even closer to her, moving slowly, his eyes never leaving her. When she lifts her eyes at him he stops, rooted to the floor between the table and the golden chair she was fond of sitting in. _Tonight, however, my place is here on this balcony. I doubt I'll sleep unless the wine knocks me out._ She drinks. "Have I ever told you about Maggy the Frog?"

Qyburn tilts his head a little, smiling without blinking. "Can't say you have, Your Grace."

 _Have I?_ Cersei honestly couldn't recall. She looks down and her goblet is empty again. She pours. "Once when I was a little girl, I went to see a woods witch near Casterly Rock. She was infamous in the area for being able to tell you your future, at a price. I cut my finger open for her and she plunged it into her mouth… Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

"I don't believe I have, Your Grace." Qyburn says, taking another step toward her, his hands folded behind his back.

"It's so strange." Cersei remarks, drinking her wine and eyeing Qyburn. "She then went on to tell me I had three questions. Can you guess what I asked her first?"

"Did you ask if you would be the Queen?"

Cersei frowns and pours. "No, not at first. That was one of my questions, but the first one I asked was if I was to be married to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Instead, I was told I would marry not a prince but a king. At the time I thought she meant I would marry Rhaegar once he was crowned King, but that was when I was young and naïve."

"What was the third question?" Qyburn asks curiously, treading closer.

"If the king and I would have children." Cersei smiles reminiscently, "She was right about that as well. Three children, she predicted, with three golden burial shrouds to match their golden crown of hair. She predicted each of their deaths when I was a teenage girl…What am I to make of that?"

"What did she say when you ask if you would be Queen?"

 _That another, younger, and more beautiful, would come to cast me down and take all I hold dear…_ Cersei notices her pitcher is once again empty, and lifts her eyes to see that Qyburn is closer to her than she realized…

"Qyburn… May I ask _you_ something?"

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"Why is your neck bleeding?"

Qyburn lifts up his hand and touches his neck. It comes away with red fingertips. Sure enough, a bloody stain was spreading through the collar of his robes. _Why does his hand look so… young?_ _Where are the wrinkles and veins?_ Cersei lowers her goblet as Qyburn's expression slackens to that of a blank, emotionless one she'd never seen on the old man before. "I'm not sure, Your Grace." He says flatly, "It's certainly unusual, isn't it?"

"Why are you really here?" Cersei asks, standing from the balcony's railing. Cersei's hands tighten painfully around her goblet of wine, her behind pressed against the cool railing, as Qyburn took another step closer, only six or seven feet away now. Cersei sees that the blood seems to be coming from underneath a fold in his neck… as if he wore a mask. She realizes at the same time that Qyburn reveals what he's been hiding behind his back, that this was not truly Qyburn at all; that whoever this imposter was, had intent to harm her. He was running toward her all of the sudden, wielding the skinniest blade she'd ever seen with both hands, his voice transforming into that of a young girl's battlecry.

The wine splashes Qyburn across the face as the golden goblet goes flying, hitting the window before cascading across the floor. Cersei dives to her left as the narrow blade lunges past her ear, barely managing to slice a small cut across her cheek. The battlecry that didn't match Qyburn's voice turned into a ferocious snarl as he wiped the wine out of his eyes. Panic seized Cersei at first, but then she saw Widow's Wale resting on the table inside—Qyburn stands in her way, swinging again—yet the blade catches on the drapes to the window, allowing Cersei to throw herself into the old man screaming. She claws at his face and feels it alarmingly slide underneath her grasp as whoever it was underneath grunted. The two of them fell to the floor beside one another, wrestling and kicking. Cersei gasps as she manages to crawl away—the table miles away from her still. "HELP ME!" Cersei roars, praying for The Mountain's return. Qyburn's hand fastens around her ankle, yanking her off balance. The floor rushes up to smack her chin, and Cersei tastes blood. Qyburn is crawling over her, tugging at her gown like an animal, his face disheveled so that his eyes and mouth were slanting unnaturally.

Whether it was the horror of it all, or the alcohol surging through her bloodstream, Cersei didn't know. All she knew was that something spurred inside of her to fight—and so she fought with everything she had. Her legs kicked at him in the gut and groin, her finger lashed out at him, breaking several of her nails against his forehead. Qyburn wraps his hands around her throat, squeezing the air out of her lungs—so Cersei leans into him and bites down as hard as she can on his ear. The man screams, high-pitched and child-like. More warm blood laps across her tongue, only this time it's not her own.

The punch comes down like a war hammer, and Cersei's world goes black as her head bounces off the floor. The second punch's impact is hardly felt, for the first one numbed her entire face. She blinks, and the third punch rocks her head to the left, spraying blood across the carpet. She feels two of her teeth come loose and dance around beside her tongue. All of the fight left in her died and Cersei resigned herself to her fate…

Only the fourth punch never came down. Cersei heard his screams of "Let me go!" and a great commotion occurring over her head, yet it sounded so far away it was almost a dream… Then her vision returned and Cersei saw a young man wrestling Qyburn back. _Who?_ She subconsciously wonders, still floored from the beating she took to think much else. Cersei lifts her arm up and wipes her mouth off before crawling up into a sitting position… The young man has Qyburn in a headlock—only it isn't Qyburn anymore… Cersei had ripped his face off with her teeth… it was now lying on the floor beside her in a disturbing, bloody heap…

"I've got him, Your Grace!" Shouts the boy, his curly hair bouncing as he struggles to keep the imposter still. Then Cersei remembers who he must be…

"Dickon Tarly?" She asks him weakly.

"Yes, Your Grace." He smirks, "I was told you wished to see me tonight. I came by but when I saw The Mountain was gone I feared you were as well—then I heard you scream for help!"

"GERROFF ME YOU CUNT!" Thunders the girl in his arms, her face half painted red with blood from the mask she had worn.

Cersei stands up slowly, breathing heavily, her head pounding with dull pain. She glares at the imposter, studies her face… and realizes with a wide grin who it was.

"My, my… Arya Stark." Cersei says with hardly suppressed laughter. "You've grown into an interesting young lady."

* * *

Jon

Winterfell was no longer his home. Jon left on a cold, blistering night leading all of the Free-Folk through the snow storm. There were little more than a five hundred of them. Most were women and children, yet it was the men who dragged behind. Almost all who survived the Battle with the Boltons were still injured in some capacity or another. The journey would not be kind for them. Aside from the Free-Folk, the only remaining loyalist to Jon was Lady Lyanna Mormont and her three battle-hardened warriors. She rode atop her black horse beside Jon Snow, even though Jon had insisted she stay in Winterfell. "I'll never be comrades with those back-stabbing cowards! Let alone sleep under the same roofs as them!" The she-bear declared and the subject was dropped. Now she sat, pale-faced and weary-eyed, and still her determined expression was inspiring. Jon was just glad not all had betrayed him…

When Jon left, Sansa didn't come to see him off. Nor did he try to find her. _Sansa has what she wants now. Maybe it is for the best. Perhaps I will see her again when she marches on King's Landing._

The first place he planned to visit was Greywater Watch in order to deal with Howland Reed. There was a chance, he thought, that Bran had convinced him to join their side, and right now Jon desperately needed an army. Plus Bran might still be there, or at least he should be. After that, it would be to King's Landing to meet with the Dragon Queen…

After several long, hard days of traveling through harsh blizzards and freezing winds, Jon and his small band of free-folk find themselves traversing over a frozen marshland. Moat Cailin, an abandoned and ruined fortress on top of a hill, loomed amidst the fog in the distance… As they walk their horses, the snow crunches and sinks them several feet deep with every step. Jon imagined the snows here were four feet deep in all, and their horses were beginning to cry in agony from the stress. Ghost never complained, though. He had gone beyond The Wall with Jon, these snowy terrains were normal for the Direwolf. "We'll make camp here for the night, inside the fortress. No one should be there now." Jon says to the rest of his people.

"Then who's that?" Lady Mormont asks, pointing her finger up at the castle.

Jon turns and sure enough, there are strangers approaching them. The fog seemed to produce them out of thin air. Jon could've sworn there was nobody there a second ago. Jon counts about twenty in all… Their leader is the smallest in the group. A hunched over old man with a walking stick… Then Jon recognizes the red mane of hair and bushy beard that could only belong to Tormund Giantsbane and he cracks a smile. "It's Howland Reed." he tells his people, "They must be on their way to Winterfell."

"We don't know that." Lady Mormont says.

"Lady Mormont, with me. Ten others as well, ride with me out to greet him!" Jon commands and he spurs his horse to trot.

Both Jon and Howland slowly make their away across the snowy marsh before coming to a halt twenty feet apart. Howland's cracked and deformed face was an initial shock to behold, but Jon kept a straight face and greeted Howland from atop his horse with a respectful nod.

" _The King of the North_." Howland grins up at him, "The last time I saw you, you were just a baby, Jon Snow."

"My father spoke often and kindly about you." Jon says, "However, it's come to my attention you've been holding my sister's swornsword captive."

"We released her some time ago." Howland responds, "Your man, here—the wildling, I gave him free reign of Greywater Watch to look for her, out of good faith."

Jon eyes Tormund who only shakes his head. "She's not back yet?" He asks Jon, who shakes his head in return. The rage in the wildling's eyes was fearsome. He glared down at Howland, his fists balling up.

Jon looks to Lord Reed and says, "I had hoped we would cross paths. It's long overdue we meet, Lord Reed. I want us to work together. My brother and your daughter are in love, one day they might even be married." Jon smiles, "Where are they now?"

"Back in Greywater Watch where he's safe." Howland replies, his grin gone. He has a dead-pan look on his face now that frightens Jon, though he attributes it to the greyscale… Then Jon looks up and notices for the first time the Woman in Red, Lady Melisandre, striding through the snow and joining Howland Reed at his side… _What?_

"Do you know who that woman is, Lord Reed?" Jon asks.

"Yes." Howland replies back.

"She has committed crimes against the North that cannot go unpunished. I exiled her, and swore if I saw her in the North again I would kill her myself." Jon says, his hand around Longclaw's hilt. Melisandre was smiling up at him knowingly. Ghost growls at Jon's side…

"I'm afraid I cannot allow that." Howland Reed sighs.

Jon says, "She murdered an innocent child who had Greyscale much like your own, Lord Reed."

"We've all done things we're not proud of, have we not?" Howland asks, a little too pleasantly for Jon's liking. _Why is she with him? What's going on?_

"Lord Reed…" Jon says, "I am the King, hand her over to me or I will come and take her."

"King… yes, you are king… But then, what is a king without an army?" Howland asks him, revealing yellow teeth in his grin.

Then they appeared—the Crannogmen. Jon realizes his mistake too late as the fogs begin to take form to a host of men and women bearing three-pronged spears. There are hundreds of them at first, then there are thousands of them, as more and more take form all around them, surrounding Jon and every single Free-Folk behind him. _This was no accident. This is an ambush!_

Tormund realizes what's going on and draws his sword in one hand and his battle-axe in the other, releasing a booming roar as he charges directly for Howland Reed—The twenty Crannogmen who guarded Lord Reed responded in earnest, thrusting their spears upward in defense, engulfing Tormund who is, to put it mildly, a whirlwind of death as he spin through the hoard of green-skinned barbarians, tearing off limbs and slicing off heads and laughing as he does it. There are numerous battle cries from the wildlings behind Jon and he hears everyone draw their blades and start running while Lady Mormont screams, "DEFEND YOUR KING!" Jon Snow grimaces as he pulls out Longclaw, kicking at his horse's side to run as fast as it can through the snow—

That's when the spears start to rain down from the sky. Jon's horse is lucky and dodges the first wave, but when Jon looks over his shoulder, what he witnesses tears him apart. Men, women, horses, and children all had three-pronged spears sticking out from them all throughout his "army" while others who were undamaged went spiraling over the ones who were into the snow. Screams of agony mixed with the battle cries of the warriors who remained lit up the sky… Then Jon witnessed a new horror… It happened first to Lady Mormont, whose horse led the pack. A three-pronged spear jutted up from beneath the snow and ripped through the belly of her horse, causing it to cry out and fall. Lady Mormont was sent flying onto her side… only she lands on another spear that comes out of the snow and pierces her through the neck. Then three more came shooting upward through her warrior's groins and out of their chests, stopping them in their tracks. _They were waiting for us underneath the snow!_ Jon's anger bubbles to the surface as more of his people were slaughtered within seconds. He turns to Howland Reed, who stands beside the Lady Melisandre watching Tormund fight.

"REED!" Jon thunders, his horse galloping gallantly over the snow as though it weren't even there. He raises his sword, preparing to strike the old man's head off with a single blow!

He doesn't notice the massive direwolf until it's too late.

Out of nowhere, a lumbering, grey beast flies out from the fog and tackles Jon's horse down mere feet away from Howland and Melisandre. The once King of the North falls into the snow, buried several feet in, his sword lying somewhere by his feet. _Why do I feel like I know this wolf?_ The Direwolf he recognizes rips the neck of his horse out before turning its sights upon Jon Snow. Jon notices that Howland Reed is no longer standing up. He too has fallen, his eyes white and rolled up into the back of his head… _He's controlling her. He's a warg!_ Jon grunts as he tries to reach for Longclaw—but the direwolf pounces! Its jaws nearly reach his face before a blur of white fur collides with the beast and both direwolves are rapidly fighting each other, snapping at each other's necks, kicking up snow, tearing off hair. Jon manages to pick up Longclaw, and rushes to his direwolf's aid—but the grey one Howland controls is bigger and gets the better of Ghost, digging her fangs into the white wolf's neck. Ghost's sharp howl of pain was unlike anything Jon had heard before. Tears escape his eyes as Jon plunges his Valyrian Steel sword into the grey direwolf's side while it kills Ghost… This one doesn't scream like Ghost, though. Instead it just looks up at Jon as it falls to the snow. There are tears in her eyes…

Howland Reed is conscious again, glaring with pure hatred at Jon. Meanwhile spears continue to soar overhead, striking down every last one of Jon's people before they can even defend themselves. Their agony and tormented cries mirror Jon's broken heart as he faces down Howland Reed and Melisandre, knowing full well this was it. It was over. He had lost. Only Tormund Giantsbane was still fighting somehow... There were three spears sticking out of his back, yet the red-headed wildling refused to relent, cutting down every last Crannogmen who was brave enough to try and stop him. It's only when a spear comes soaring out of the sky, burying itself in his chest, that Tormund finally freezes, and both his sword and axe fall limply from his grasp. Tormund Giantsbane, Jon Snow's last friend, falls face first into the snow.

Jon begins to walk toward Howland Reed, limping from the fall he suffered, anger boiling over. _I'm going to kill him. It's the very least I can do for them!_ Lady Melisandre begins to disrobe, revealing her naked self, a pale visage in the snowy landscape. Her belly is bulging with pregnancy that Jon hadn't noticed until now. _What is going on now?_ She smiles serenely at him, her eyes glistening with tears, before sitting down atop her robes in the snow and spreading her legs…

Jon is only a few feet away when the shadowy, black, tar-like demon crawled its way out of her. Melisandre heaves and moans as she gives birth to a monstrosity bearing the resemblance of a man. It slowly stands and faces him. Jon Snow readies Longclaw, his heart pounding. _Whatever you are, I don't care! Come at me!_

As though it reads his mind, the Shade responds by lunging for Jon, its claws outstretched, a high-pitched hiss escaping what resembled its mouth. Jon roars, slashing Longclaw at the thing with all his might—

The blade passes through the demon as though it were made of fire, and Jon Snow can only gasp as it plunges its dagger-like talons through his heart, putting an end to the pounding in his ears. The Shadow smiles wickedly at him before dispersing into nothingness…

 _No._ Jon looks down and sees blood rivering down his torso from the open wound. It was exactly the same place Olly had stabbed him once, only this time the pain felt different somehow. Jon collapses to his knees, Longclaw sinking into the snow beside him. He is too weak to lift it again. Melisandre crawls back to her feet with the help of Howland Reed, who wraps her robe around her once more. The two of them stare down at Jon with smiles of satisfaction.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance." The Red Woman says to him, out of breath still from labor. "You could have avoided all of this, Jon Snow… You could've listened to me, and kept me with you."

"Shut up." Jon mutters, digging his fist into the snow and coughing up blood. _I'm dying._ He knew, because he'd done this once already. _This time it looks like there's no way she'll bring me back again… I can't. Not again. I need to find… Daenerys… Damn the Gods!_ "I don't… understand… Reed, why?"

Howland Reed wipes tears out of his eyes as he says, "The Targaryens are like Greyscale. They infect and spread and cause destruction and eventually death. Targaryens are a disease, and a disease must be eliminated."

 _But you were my father's friend? He trusted you!_ Jon wants to say, but instead he throws up blood and spittle, his head spinning. His lungs were losing air. He couldn't breathe anymore. Jon seizes up, sinking deeper and deeper into the snow. _You know nothing Jon Snow_ , whispers the teasing voice of Ygritte.

Then the darkness became absolute, and all reality faded into nothingness.


	7. A Song of Love and Doom

The 999th Lord Commander

The Long Night had come for The Wall, and the winds of winter were relentless. Edd's hair whipped about his face constantly, even with his black, woolen hood pulled up over his head. The unwilling Lord Commander of the Night's Watch wished the wind would stop, just for a second even, so that he might regain some feeling in his face. After spending what felt like several days trapped atop The Wall, Dolorous Edd's entire body was threatening to shut down. His hands were so numb he couldn't even stretch his fingers, the joints in his bones were stiffening as though ice itself were flowing through his veins, and two icicles were wiggling under his nostrils. It was his stomach and bladder that was brought him the most discomfort. There was nothing to eat or drink, and Edd wondered whether it would be starvation or the cold that killed him first. Without anywhere to piss or shit, Edd was forced to do it out in the open. Pissing over The Wall's edge was easy enough (even though Edd could barely hold his cock in his frostbitten hands) but Dolorous Edd couldn't bring himself to shit over it. The thought of slipping in mid-shit and falling 700 feet to his death was even worse than freezing up here, and so he shat in a corner, away from where he and Harolt were stuck so they would not have to suffer the stench. The two men dubbed it their shit corner, and refused to acknowledge each other whenever one managed to get up and make their way over to it.

They had no way of building a fire up here. The winds of winter had blown all torches out, and neither Edd nor Harolt had any flint or oil on their person _. We'd have survived longer up here with fire to warm us. Guess there's no point in prolonging it anyway. We're both dead already._ Ever since the elevator snapped off and crashed down onto Castle Black, Dolorous Edd had slowly accepted his fate. Never again would he set feet upon solid ground. Never again would he enjoy a warm fire in the hearth. Never again would he know the taste of chicken or ale. When they first became trapped up here, both men walked as far as they could down each length of the parapets. An hour to the right led them to a giant fissure that had split off a huge portion of the walkway and sent it crashing down below. A few hours to their left led them to a similar missing section of the Wall that had broken off. There was no way to reach either the Shadow tower or Eastwatch by the Sea… So in the end, both of them agreed to sit and wait over Castle Black. Dolorous Edd had no expectations of being rescued by the remaining Night's Watch below. It would take months to rebuild the elevator… Yet Dolorous Edd was the Lord Commander, so when Harolt had asked him if there was any hope of being rescued, Edd lied and told him, "Yes."

Death was coming for him. He could feel it like a shadow looming over him every second. It dawned on him when his body stopped being capable of shivering that he would most likely freeze before starving after-all… He lost track of how many days he spent up here. Once the Long Night had darkened the sky, the sun refused to show its face, so the days and nights felt one in the same before long. It could've been a week for all he knew. Dolorous Edd didn't feel like counting. He didn't feel anything anymore. His mind was as numb as his body. The only comfort came when he slipped off into a dream for a few hours. Every time he fell asleep, he prayed to the Gods he didn't believe in that he wouldn't have to ever wake up again… But every time his eyes would open and he would be back in this frozen hell again, his prayers ignored.

Dolorous Edd hugged himself tightly, his hands glued to his arms, as he sat in a shrunken, black heap next to Harolt. The young man had only been at The Wall for a year. He had committed rape in White Harbor, and was sentenced to The Wall for it. Harolt was a quiet man, much to Edd's gratitude. Both didn't speak much to each other, only when it was necessary. Edd, who was once full of wit and sarcasm, could hardly open his mouth without ice-cold pain seizing his jaw. Edd has a deep, unspoken fear that Harolt would eventually get hungry enough to try and eat him. Edd had only his sword to defend himself with, and so did Harolt. Edd recalled Alliser Thorne always going on about how, beyond the wall, when trapped in the cold for so long, men would grow desperate in their hunger… Thorne himself had bragged about eating his comrades to survive. Edd would rather die than go that far… but Harolt was a rapist and someone Edd barely knew. Brother of the watch or not, Edd kept a wary eye on Harolt whenever he was awake…

As Harolt was getting up to slowly make his way to the shit corner, he stops and stares out over The Wall. "Oh Gods." he whispers, "Lord C-C-Commander! Look down b-b-below!"

"What is it this time?" Edd grumbles, though he as he struggles to stand, he already knows the answer. His hands grip the ice as he peers down into the dark depths below. The Long Night and the relentless blizzard made the forest beyond The Wall nearly impossible to make out… Edd squints, letting his eyes adjust…

Then the Lord Commander says, "S-S-Start b-b-blowing that horn again, Harolt."

* * *

Benjen

The white weirwood tree was where he'd last left Brandon Stark and Meera Reed before riding off. Since then, Benjen had been waiting. He knew this day would come eventually, just as he knew what he must do when it did. So Benjen Stark rode to the weirwood tree first to drop down on his knees and pray. It was more out of habit than anything, as Benjen knew there were no Old Gods, only the Three-Eyed Raven… The thought of Bran hearing his prayer comforted him as he opened his eyes and glared up at the bleeding face in the wood. "I believe in you." He whispers, wondering if only the wind would hear it.

Afterwards, Benjen said goodbye to his black horse. The tough old beast had loyally stuck with him since he'd found her fending for herself, and had remained his only friend in the cold, long night. He pats it with his cold, scarred hands and wishes her the best of luck, thanking her. The horse looks at him and he can tell she doesn't understand what's happening. He removes the saddle from her, tossing it into the snow, and then smacks her on the behind to send her running… She gallops away and Benjen never sees her again. He sniffs, wiping a tear out of his eye, before turning to face the gigantic structure that was The Wall.

Trudging through the snow, Benjen arrives in the snowy field that separated the forest from The Wall. The giant gates that led through to Castle Black were still there, blocking all from entering. Benjen approaches until he stands in the middle of the clearing, tilting his head up and staring at the top of the Wall, piercing the pitch-black sky. Somewhere up above, a horn was blowing three times…

Benjen closes his eyes as the blistering snow caresses his face. He slowly turns around, drawing his sword…

Standing amidst the trees and stepping out into the field, the White Walkers appear.

Thousands emerge from the woods… Skeletons in armor and bloody rags, their swords and axes clutched in their claws; men, women, and children all. The Wights jerk around with every step, like puppets on strings. Their puppeteer, The Night's King, is surrounded by three blue-eyed, bearded White Walkers. All four are adorned in black armor. The horned devil that led them was staring directly at Benjen from across the field while his army of the dead quietly watched him, spread out as far as he can see to his east and west… None of them making a sound.

"Night's King!" Benjen yells in a grizzly voice over the wind. "You've finally showed your face!"

The Night's King does not respond. None of them do. Benjen scowls at them, his sword in one hand while the other unfurled the ball-and-chain that he ignited with flames. "I wonder…" Benjen says loudly, "Are you craven enough to let your mindless insects fight for you?! Or will you face me like a man!?"

Then the Night's King smiled, chilling Benjen's blood. His blue eyes never blink or look away as he begins to walk toward him. With his right hand he reaches up and disconnects the long, curved weapon from his back. It was unlike any blade the others in his army used, even his lieutenants, who wielded swords of ice. This one's blade was ice as well, curved like a sickle, and as long as a greatsword. The King of the Dead grips it in both hands, leaving his army behind as he comes to a stop fifteen feet from Benjen.

"Do you know who I am?" Benjen asks him, wondering if the Devil was even capable of talking back.

Once again, he doesn't answer. His bright, blue eyes are locked on Benjen, waiting…

"I was dead once." Benjen goes on, white fog escaping his breath, "Killed by one of those swords of ice. The children brought me back with dragonglass; pushed it right through my heart. Guess we have that in common." _If I can kill him, it might put an end to his control over the dead. I could end all of this right here, right now!_ "What's wrong? Can't speak?"

The Night's King's smile slowly falls, unamused. Benjen sighs, turning his sword over in his left hand, smiling as memories of all the times he fought with this blade came back to him. He remembered every enemy, every kill… _This sword is not capable of killing any White Walkers, but it'll help._ "My name is Benjen Stark!" He declares, his legs carrying him toward his enemy. "I know you are powerful enough now to take it down, but for as long as I draw breath, you will never make it over this Wall! Let us end this!"

Benjen starts to run as gusts of wind try to push him back. "FOR THE WATCH!" He roars, swinging his sword with one hand while spinning the blazing chain in the other. He strikes with the sword first, and its steel meets the blue edge of the Night King's scythe, deflecting the blow as Benjen expected—but the sheer, insurmountable strength behind the scythe Benjen did not anticipate as he was thrown backward nearly off his feet before he could bring his flaming ball-and-chain down. _Night gathers, and now my watch begins._ Benjen barely has time to step left and avoid the Night King's retaliation. _It shall not end until my death._ The chain-on-fire spins wildly, and the King of the Dead deftly steps back to avoid its blow. _I shall take no wife,_ the scythe come rushing up toward his face, and Benjen dives to the right this time, _hold no lands,_ He catches himself before he can fall into the snow, shoving his sword forward in attempt to pierce the Night's King's chest, _father no children!_ The scythe whirlwinds, deflecting the sword with ease, and this time the steel shatters, leaving Benjen with only its hilt, and the force of its destruction numbs his entire left arm. _I shall wear no crowns and win no glory!_ With only the chain of fire left at his disposal, Benjen throws the hilt into the snow. _I shall live and die at my post!_ Flames spark as the chain connects with the scythe, wrapping around its curved blade of ice! _I am the sword in the darkness!_ The Night's King yanks him inward, and Benjen is suddenly face to face with the blue-eyed demon, his wicked smile returning with a grin, revealing a row of fangs. _I am the watcher on the walls!_ Benjen snarls as he butts foreheads with the Night King's, his horns stabbing painfully through his forehead as both of them stumble backward. _I am the shield that guards the realms of men!_ The chain was still caught on the scythe. Benjen wrenches on it, and the Night's King, who was already thrown off balance from the head-butt, is suddenly forced to let go of his weapon. _I pledge my life!_ The success drives Benjen to bellow with rage as he spins the chain and scythe over his head in a circular motion. _And Honor!_ The Night's King's grin has transformed into an ugly grimace as Benjen swings the scythe down. _To the Night's Watch!_ The curved ice slices through the Night King's armored plating, tearing off a piece from his shoulder. The blade doesn't quite penetrate, but it's enough to send his enemy sprawling backward. Benjen brings the heavy scythe around with his chain, his right arm growing heavier by the second. He knew this had to be the killing blow, or his strength would give, and he dared not try to wield the scythe with his own hands unless he had to. _F_ _or this night!_ The Night's King reaches up with his hands, as if to try and catch the attack! Benjen doesn't hold back—be throws his whole weight into the strike! _A_ _nd all the nights to come!_

The Night King's scythe freezes in mid-air by some invisible force, inches away from his outstretched palms, and the chain attached to it suddenly explodes in a mist of metal and fire, burning Benjen's hand. He cries with pain, falling backward into the snow as the fire from his chain engulfs his forearm. Benjen plunges his burning arm into the snow and hears it sizzle out with the smell of burning flesh. _No!_ Benjen glares up at the Night's King, his mutilated hand trembling. _No… I was so close…_ The Night's King is still frowning down at him as he picks up his scythe… His blue eyes are filled with animalistic fury. _So close…_

Benjen decides he won't go down like this. He wills his burned hand to cease its trembling and stands back up on his old, exhausted legs. Warm blood from where the Night King's horns had penetrated was leaking down his eyebrows. He wipes it out of his vision with his numb left arm and laughs loudly and without fear at his enemy. "Even if you kill me, I've already done what I set out to do. I bought the people of Westeros a few extra precious seconds of life. That's just about the most meaningful death a man like me could hope for." If the Night's King understood him, he gave no sign of it as he makes his way toward him. Benjen stands rooted to the spot, refusing to look away as the scythe's blue, curved blade plunges through his gut and out his back. _Death is a familiar feeling_ , Benjen realizes, his legs going numb but rejecting to buckle. As blood rushes up his throat, Benjen laughs again. _I must be the only one in the world who knows what it's like to die twice._ His laughter stops as the scythe is vehemently jerked back out of him. Benjen Stark coughs up blood, and begins to fall… The Night's King catches him with one hand wrapped around his throat, suffocating him. Benjen gasps as his blood instantly goes cold. The King of the Dead's bright, blue eyes are the last thing Benjen witnesses before his life is extinguished…

...

...

_Rise…_

_Rise, my child…_

_RISE!_

Benjen Stark rises from the snow. The blue eyes of the Night's King are staring into his.

The Night's King turns and faces the rest of his Dead, raising his arms up at his side and outstretching his fingers.

_BRING IT DOWN!_

Benjen turns and faces The Wall. He begins to run to it as fast as he can. So do the rest. Benjen is the closest and reaches the icy surface first, slamming into it with all his weight, digging his fingers into it, scratching at it, gnawing at it, pounding at it. When the others join him Benjen is abruptly crushed and pinned underneath as thousands upon thousands of skeletal corpses climb over each other to hack away at the ice with their axes and swords. Despite all this, Benjen continues to beat his fists at the ice until they are only bloody stumps. The ice in front of his face is barely dented or cracked, only blood smears it. The other dead men, women, and children, however, are chipping huge chunks of ice away with their weapons, climbing over each other like ants. Bones and Limbs constantly impede his progress, but Benjen does not give in. With his bloody stumps for arms he pounds and pounds and pounds away… and a deep crack begins to slither up the ice…

 

* * *

 

Petyr

The silver brooch of the mockingbird was pinned to the center of his chest, catching the black cloak over his shoulders. Petyr Baelish observes the features of his face in his mirror, his narrow eyes glinting. He picks up trimmers from his desk drawer and lightly prunes just a few hairs from his mustache and beard that were getting too long. He then draws out scissors and snips only a single hair from behind his ear. Finally he lowers his fingers under the fountain and scrubs his nails clean with soap and water. He does so with meticulous care, drying them off with a flick of his wrists into a bucket beneath the desk he sat at. Once finished, Petyr Baelish stands and turns to look down at his empty bed where a single letter lay open. A messenger had woken him that morning. Baelish questioned the courier briefly to make sure he hadn't taken a peek into the contents of this letter. Luckily the man was a dolt and Baelish doubted he had the sense or curiosity to care what some Lord from the Vale had in his letters. Nevertheless, Baelish took note of the man's grizzly, pocket-marked face and even asked him his name. _Boyle_ , the man had answered, _the son of a stablemaster_.

Now that Sansa was Queen of the North, she could essentially do as she likes, including having Winterfell's couriers read his letters. Petyr paid the son of the stablemaster more gold dragons than he'd seen in his life, and thanked him for his discretion. The courier seemed baffled by this and left with happy tears in his eyes. Once Baelish read the letter, he was delighted there was hardly anything incriminating written inside. The sender of the letter hadn't signed their name, as Baelish had instructed. All that was written was two single sentences: _The Dragon has reached the capital. I will sail north where we discussed._

Petyr Baelish burns the letter with a match and opens his tower window, tossing the flaming paper out into the whistling winds and endless snowfall where it floats for a moment before disappearing into ashes.

Later that day, Petyr meets with Robyn Arryn and convinces him to join him in the Grey Hall with their Queen. Robyn is upset by the lack of dead giants to entertain himself with. "Jon Snow had the giant burned against my knowledge, my boy." Baelish told him with a sly smirk. Robyn scowled and stormed into the Grey Hall with him in a foul mood.

Sansa was already seated at the center of the table where the king once sat. Petyr bows before her while Robyn just strolls up to the table without courtesy and shoves his chair back loudly before plopping himself down in it. Sansa and the other Northern Lords are unimpressed. Baelish only chuckles and takes his seat at Sansa's side. He says to her, "It would appear I'm late for the council meeting. My apologizes, Your Grace."

"You're just in time." Speaks Lord Glover with a frown. "We were just discussing our march southward."

"Is that so?" Baelish looks sideways at Sansa. Her expression is confident and full of pride, a small smile forming on her lips. She was dressed in a black and white dress, a wolf pelt wrapped around her neck for warmth as her red hair flowed beautifully down her back.

Sansa says, "We have waited long enough. Any longer and we risk being unable to travel."

"Agreed." Baelish nods, "However, it begs the questions of who will stay behind to rule in Winterfell while we invade the south?"

Sansa glances at him and he can tell she hadn't thought of that. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell…" Mutters Lord Manderly with a frown.

"An old tradition long broken when the Boltons took Winterfell for their own." Sansa says, her eyebrows furrowing. "I will be leading our armies south to King's Landing as we've already discussed. I need all of you with me. I can't afford to leave anyone here."

"But… Your Grace…" Lord Glover shakes his head, "What about the smallfolk? Without someone to rule the North while we're gone, how will any of them survive the winter?"

"And who will be here to defend Winterfell while we're gone?" Lord Cerwyn asks.

"Robb Stark left Winterfell with only a young boy in charge and hardly any men to defend the castle. It's why the Greyjoys were able to take it so easily with only twenty men." Petyr Baelish reminds them all, "We cannot repeat the same mistakes."

"What are you suggesting?" Sansa asks him.

"Stay in Winterfell. Rule the North. Elect someone to lead your armies in your name, bearing your sigil."

An uneasy silence follows his suggestion. Sansa casts Petyr a suspicious look that he only returns with an innocent smirk. She says, "Winterfell may be my home, but this is my war. I need to be there when—"

"Forgive me, Your Grace…" Lord Glover interrupts with a grim look, "But have you ever led an army into battle?"

Sansa's cheeks turn a slight shade of pink. "No." She says, "But if it was not for me, none of us would be sitting here right now. I asked for the Knights of the Vale for help and they came."

Petyr raises an eyebrow with a smile as several of the other lords all glance at each other with worried looks. Robyn Arryn, to everyone's shock, blurts out, "Liar! I'm the Lord of the Vale! They're _my_ knights! Not _yours_!"

Sansa shoots him a foul glare and Petyr can tell this little outburst could cost Robyn if he didn't interject. Petyr laughs, clapping Robyn on the shoulder. "Forgive Lord Arryn, he hasn't broken his fast yet. I'm sure there's no doubt in anyone's mind that the Vale deserves credit for your victory, Your Grace, just as much as you do."

Lord Glover shakes his head again as Sansa Stark says, "I wish to hear no more of this. You all elected me your Queen. I expect each of you to follow my commands. I may not be experienced in battle but I do know King's Landing and I know Cersei Lannister."

"This is a mistake." Lord Glover growls, "We can't leave the north undefended."

"We won't." Sansa says. "Call back all of the men you sent to defend The Wall. Have them defend Winterfell instead." There are several gasps around the table from the Northern Lords. Petyr finds it hard to hide his smile and rests his elbow up on the table to cover his mouth with his hand.

"Your Grace, all together we could only afford to send less than a hundred men to The Wall!" Lord Glover cries.

"Not true." Petyr says. "Lord Robyn sent five thousand knights of the Vale as well."

"So you say." Lord Glover scowls at him.

"Are you calling my father a liar!?" Lord Robyn asks, standing up from his seat in anger. "I gave the order myself! Bring them back, I don't care! I never wanted them there anyway!"

"It still leaves the North without a ruler, Your Grace." Lord Manderly says cautiously.

Sansa appears uncertain about what to do. Baelish watches her out of the corner of his eye, waiting for her. She looks up and says, "Then one of you will remain in my place and rule while I'm gone. I trust each of you with this task, all I ask is for a volunteer." He notices she doesn't look at him when she says this.

Lord Glover finally has enough. Suddenly he's on his feet and shouting, "This was a mistake! Jon Snow might've lied to us but he never would've left the north without a Stark in Winterfell!"

"That's enough." Sansa commands, her tone implying displeasure. "I will hear no more of my cousin or what he would do. I am the Queen now! You elected me, Lord Glover. Nobody forced you."

"Aye. I did. I wish I hadn't." Lord Glover spits, "You don't even know what you're doing. You're a little girl playing at Queen!"

"Do you like your head where it's at, Lord Glover?" Sansa asks him calmly. Lord Glover blinks back at her and she doesn't wait for a response, "If you do I suggest you sit back down and watch your words more carefully."

Petyr watches him, half hoping Lord Glover would remain defiant to serve his amusement. Yet Lord Glover slowly sat back down, his face scrunched up in anger.

"Your Grace," Baelish says, lowering his hand from his mouth. "As much as I hate to admit it, the other Lords have a point. It would serve the North better if you remained here and ruled. You would be safe here as well, which is truly my biggest concern—even more so than the welfare of the smallfolk. Allow Lord Arryn to lead your armies into battle. The Vale commands the largest of our forces anyway. Lord Arryn needs the experience, and with my help, and the wisdom of our fellow Lords, I am positive we will succeed in your endeavor."

Sansa looks at him for the first time in the eye and he can tell what she's thinking. _This isn't what we agreed on that night we spent together. She must be wondering why I'm siding against her now_. Lord Manderly and Cerwyn laugh at his notion and Baelish frowns at them. "You expect us to follow this green boy into combat? Rumor has it he cannot even swing a sword properly." Says the bearded Lord Manderly.

"I can fight!" Lord Arryn shouts at them, his cheeks blushing. "I could take you on, old man!"

"Nevertheless, he is the Lord of the Vale, Lord Manderly." Petyr says quickly before an argument could break out, "With forty-five thousand strong riding beside him, Lord Arryn won't have any need to swing a sword."

"I've heard enough." Sansa sighs, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes. When they open she says, "I will consider your proposal, Lord Baelish. Regardless of my decision, the north will march south in three days. Thank you all for coming today. Council is dismissed. Lord Baelish, I'd like a word alone with you."

"Can I stay?" Robyn Arryn asks Petyr, and not Sansa, as the other three lords get up and shuffle out of the Grey Hall. "Winterfell is so boring, father. There's no moon door!"

"Wait for me outside, my son." Petyr smiles, mussing up Robyn's hair. "I'll only be a minute."

When they're alone, Petyr turns and looks at Sansa with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap.

"What are you doing?" Sansa asks him angrily.

"What ever do you mean, Your Grace?"

"If you hadn't brought up the North needing a ruler none of that would have happened." Sansa says, "Don't think I didn't notice. What game are you playing at? We agreed that night that I would lead our forces into King's Landing."

"Sansa…" Petyr sighs, "My biggest concern has, and always has been, _your_ safety. If something were to happen to you I could never forgive myself. I apologize profusely for suggesting you stay—but truthfully I want you to. When Robert marched and took the throne, he didn't give it to your father. He took it for himself because he knew nobody would defy him after witnessing his victories. If I lead your forces south and take King's Landing, no one will question your decision to put me on the throne."

"So now you want to lead?" Sansa smirks, "What happened to Robyn Arryn leading the army?"

Baelish smiles knowingly at her and says, "We both know who really rules the Vale."

She couldn't argue that. It was obvious that Robyn Arryn did whatever Petyr asked. "So this is all about you becoming King?" Sansa asks.

"That, and your safety." Petyr answers. "The other lords are right. Without you, the North will suffer. No other can rightfully rule Winterfell in your place. Perhaps if Brandon Stark was here…"

"Bran was left in charge of Winterfell once and we ended up losing our home to the Boltons." Sansa says, "If I stay… how can I know you won't do as you like with my army?"

"I doubt Lords Manderly, Glover, or Cerwyn would be too impressed if I betrayed your command." Baelish grins. "Without their support, not even my knights of the Vale could stand a chance against the Lannisters."

Sansa still appears not to believe him. Petyr expected this. She says, "In three days we march… I will decide then."

Just then the doors to the Grey Hall open and one of Sansa's guards enter. "Your Grace! Lord Reed has arrived and seeks your audience!"

"Lord Reed is here?" Sansa looks surprised, "Allow him in."

The old man hobbles inside on a walking stick. His skin is misshapen and deformed from Greyscale, though Sansa hides her shock well behind her Queenly mask. Howland Reed bows before them and says, "Your Grace! It is an honor to meet you again!"

"Reed!" Petyr Baelish cries, stepping around the table and briskly striding down the hall with his arms outstretched, his grin wide. Howland Reed looks up at him with a toothy smile and the two men embrace. Petyr grips his shoulders, laughing, "It's been too long, my friend!"

"Same to you, Baelish." Howland cackles, "I saw the little lord, Robyn Arryn, on my way in. Quite the boy you have there!"

"He's a moody young man but I can't help but love the lad." Petyr laughs, walking up toward Sansa whose Queenly mask had slipped away, revealing her surprise.

"You two know each other?" She asks.

"Petyr and I have been friends since childhood." Howland says, playfully hitting Petyr in the shoulder. "The years have been kind to you, my friend."

"Wish I could say the same to you, Howland." Petyr jests, "I heard of your affliction but I dared not believe it true."

"Ah, yes." Howland sighs, "It's a tragedy, but you get used to it."

Both men guffaw with laughter and Petyr notices Sansa is totally beside herself with confusion. She says, "Lord Reed, my brother was sent to find you. Has he returned with you?"

"Afraid not, Your Grace." Howland says, "I felt it was safer for him to stay in Greywater Watch. It is impossible to find without guidance. I've brought with me my army at your brother's command, though when I heard you'd succeeded him I admit that I was glad to hear it."

"Why is that?" She asks.

"Never trust a Targaryen." Howland says, "I'd like to believe Eddard Stark would be relieved to see his trueborn daughter in charge of his home rather than some Targaryen Bastard."

"Let us not speak of such trivialities!" Petyr declares, "Howland, I believe I owe you a drink. Shall we fill our bellies and reminisce about the old days tonight?"

"It would be my pleasure." Howland grins, "Your Grace, you have the full support of the Crannogmen and House Reed! From this day, until my last day!"

"I owe you a great debt, Lord Reed." Sansa smiles. "Thank you for coming. However, I don't know if we have enough room in our quarters for all your men."

"I'm sure we'll find somewhere for them." Petyr says, waving his hand. "Come, Lord Reed. I believe our business here has ended for the day?"

Sansa nods and dismisses them.

Petyr Baelish and Howland Reed exit the Grey Hall and out into the snow-filled courtyard. When they're alone, both of their friendly smiles disappear and they face each other. "Think she bought it?" Howland asks.

"She's wiser than she looks. But yes, I think she did." Petyr replies, leaning in close and whispering, "Is it done?"

Howland nods grimly. "Didn't put up much of a fight. It was over in five minutes."

"Did you make sure you got them all?"

"Oh yes." Howland nods. "Not a single survivor. I had every corpse checked before we set off. Even his bloody direwolf."

"Are you sure? It's imperative that you left no witnesses."

"Look who you're talking to, Petyr." Howland says, "Trust me."

Petyr nods. "You know I trust you. I just need to be sure before we proceed."

"Have you heard back from your man across the sea?" Howland asks.

"Yes. I received a letter this morning from him. Daenerys Targaryen has reached King's Landing."

"Does Sansa know yet?"

"Jon Snow heard of her somehow and informed everyone of her coming. I did everything in my power to negate these claims, but I'm afraid I could not predict him finding out about it. We were lucky. It gave us a good reason to reveal his true name."

"You? Lucky?" Howland scoffs. "Don't try and fool me, Petyr. I know you. You orchestrated this whole thing, after-all. Finding them at Moat Cailin was just as you predicted."

"Sometimes you need to gamble to get what you want." Petyr replies as the two of them cross the snowy courtyard to where Robyn Arryn is throwing snowballs at one of his knights, who only can only stand there and take it. "Jon Snow was a problem we no longer need worry about. Daenerys Targaryen and Cersei Lannister are our only remaining obstacles now. By the time we arrive with our army, their war will have ended and we will sweep up whichever side wins."

"Personally, I hope it's the Lannisters. I'd love to see the Mad Queen pay for betraying and executing Eddard Stark." Howland growls, not noticing Petyr's smirk as he says this. "When do we march on the south?"

"Three days." Petyr answers. "Did you bring the Red Woman with you?"

"Yes. She is hiding as you suggested."

"Sansa may or may not care about her crimes. For now it would be best if Sansa did not know of her being here."

"Are you sure she can be trusted?" Howland asks him.

"Are you concerned?"

"She was raised by the Lannisters and Boltons. I have every right to be concerned."

"Sansa won't be an issue." Petyr assures him with a smile. "Trust me."

  

* * *

Arya

When Arya woke from unconsciousness, she couldn't move. Her wrists and ankles were chained down on a flat table in the center of a cold, dark dungeon. Only a single, flickering torch gave any light to her black surroundings. Her vision was distorted at first and her head felt dizzy. Arya wore only her tunic and trousers... to her horror, Needle was gone. Memories came flooding back once her eyes land on who was standing over her outstretched, bare feet. _Cersei!_

The Mad Queen's face was bruised and beaten. Her right eye was swollen shut while her left glared piercingly down at her. A cut across her lips from where Arya had savagely struck her started to bleed as Cersei smiles. "I was wondering how long I'd have to wait." The Queen says aloofly.

Arya grunts, jerking her arms and legs fruitlessly against the chains, barely lifting them an inch off the table she was trapped to. Cersei is amused by this, and slowly makes her away around her side. Arya notices she's holding her golden goblet… but not drinking from it.

"You almost had me." Cersei admits, "I was on the verge of death. You had me right where you wanted me… How long did it take you? How much planning did you have to do? It's been years since you fled the capital and now here you are. I can only imagine where you've been. I imagine you must've gone through a lot just to get a chance at killing me. You even killed my Hand and stole his face. The only people in the world capable of that are the Faceless Men in Braavos. Is that where've you been? Hmm... They don't let just anyone into their ranks. You must've been something special…" She pauses, swirling her goblet back and forth in her grasp, her one open eye unblinkingly bearing down into Arya's. "So how does it feel, lying there now, knowing everything you worked your whole life for failed?" She chuckles to herself, striding right up beside Arya's head.

If her teeth weren't clenched together in anger, Arya might've answer. Instead she only glares up at her, eyes bulging, saliva oozing down her cheek. Cersei raises an eyebrow at her. "It must be painful?"

"YOU KILLED MY FATHER!" Arya blurts out, lurching against her chains. "YOU KILLED GENDRY!"

"Gendry?" Cersei tilts her head.

"The Iron Bull!" Arya snaps, "He was my friend! You murdered him!"

Cersei snorts. "Please. That fanatic was hardly anything to get upset about. A girl like you could do so much better."

Arya shrieks, her wrists and ankles beginning to bleed as she desperately tugs at her chains. "I will kill you!" Arya swears, "If it's the last thing I do—I will kill—"

"You're hardly in any position to be making threats." Cersei says, tilting her goblet over Arya's face. Arya expected this—but what she did not expect was the wine to be scalding hot. All of the sudden her whole face is burning as if from fire, splashing into her eyes—blinding her—and Arya screams and splutters as the searing wine fills her nostrils and lungs, suffocating her. Cersei poured the entire contents of her goblet, every last sizzling drop, and when it was over Arya was left gasping for air and trembling.

"What were you saying?" Cersei asks, leaning her ear in.

"I… will… kill… you…" Arya breathes, her face simmering with white hot pain. She winces, blinking rapidly to try and regain her sight—but everything was a colorless blur. Cersei's face had turned into a shadow.

Cersei lowers the goblet, and if Arya could see, she'd notice her fingers were red and blistered from holding it. "You are a tough kid. I respect that, you know. Not enough women in this world have the guts to go after what they want. You're certainly more impressive than your sister. Sansa was such a spoiled child—her head filled with fantasies. I tried to teach her the best I could, but… well, she turned out to be more trouble than she's worth. I had her executed."

Arya grunts, weakly tugging at her chains again and again. _Sansa is in the North with Jon, that's what Gendry said. She's lying to try and hurt me._ She doesn't respond to Cersei's taunts. She could torture her physically, but Arya would not give Cersei the satisfaction of torturing her emotions.

"I had her head placed right next to your father's." Cersei goes on, moving over to a dark corner in the room and fiddling with something metallic sounding that Arya couldn't see. "She begged me for mercy, just like you will."

Arya cackles with unrestrained laughter. "I'll never beg you for anything, you stupid bitch."

Cersei turns around, holding a huge pair of pliers in her hands. "I'd be disappointed if it was going to be easy. I have all night before Daenerys Targaryen lays siege to my city. I was going to spend the night getting drunk and fucking Dickon Tarly, but then you come along and it's like the Gods have given me one last gift."

"You're a liar." Arya spits, "Sansa is still alive. You tried to have her killed but she slipped through your fingers, didn't she?" She laughs, unintimidated by the Mad Queen's tool, and remembering the play she saw in Braavos. "Is it because she poisoned your precious Joffrey? If she did then my sister has bigger balls than I thought. Your son is burning in the seven hells where he belongs!"

If Cersei was scowling, Arya couldn't tell, but she liked to think she was, because Cersei didn't say a word in response. She only glided toward her, bending the pliers over her right hand and picking up her index finger. Cersei squeezes and Arya screams in response as the metal crushes the bones in her finger, then tugs hard until it was bent all the way back over the top of her knuckles. Arya bites down hard on her tongue, tasting blood as tears leak down her cheeks. Cersei chuckles, holding the pliers in place for a whole, agonizing minute—until abruptly releasing her finger… Her whole hand jitters against Arya's will, her broken index finger still unnaturally bent out of shape.

"Normally I have The Mountain do this, you know." Cersei tells her softly, almost mother-like, to Arya. "I don't enjoy torture, I'd rather not get my hands dirty… but I just had to make a special exception for you. You killed my Hand and almost killed me… Tell me, how did you get The Mountain to leave his post? Was it because you were wearing Qyburn's face and using his voice somehow? Please, do share, I'm dying to know." She picks up Arya's middle finger in her hands this time and sharply bends it backward, forcing another scream out of the Stark girl.

"Go… fuck… yourself." Arya grunts in defiance. Cersei bends the ring finger next, then the pinky. She grabs her thumb last, clutching it tightly in her sweaty hands, the pliers lying forgotten beside her. When it bends, Arya doesn't scream. Her whole hand is had gone dead numb, and she was slowly losing consciousness again…

So Cersei smacks her across the face, forcing her awake.

"Tell me what I want to know." Cersei says calmly.

Arya spits up blood into her hair, her eyes half-closed. She turns her blind gaze on the Queen, smiling. "You were right… The Faceless Men trained me… They taught me everything I know… I used The Hand's face and learned his voice to control The Mountain…"

"How clever of you." Cersei sighs. "I had Qyburn's face burned after you were caught. Without that, The Mountain will only listen to me now. You wasted you chance, foolish girl. You could have had The Mountain kick my door in and cut me down before I could cry for help. Why didn't you?"

Arya rolls her eyes. "I… wanted to be the one to do it…" She admits quietly.

"A Stark with pride. How rare." Cersei giggles sarcastically. "Your father's pride got him killed as well. You truly do walk in his footsteps, Arya Stark."

"Pride didn't kill my father." Arya argues, "You did."

"I wasn't alone." Cersei grins. "True, I had no love for him, but I alone did not decide your father's fate. In fact, I proposed he be sent to The Wall. Joffrey didn't listen."

"Joffrey was only your puppet." Arya scowls.

"If only that were true." Cersei sighs, and she actually sounded sad at this, to Arya's surprise. "You know nothing, Arya Stark. You're just a little girl playing at assassin."

"Then kill me and be done with it!" Arya yells.

"I think not." Cersei shakes her head, setting the pliers down where she found them. "I have all night. I'm going to do as I like with you… But for now, I think, I'll hand you over to Clegane."

At the mention of Clegane, Arya first thoughts went to The Hound, and she half expected Sandor Clegane to come marching into the dungeon all of the sudden. But it was Sandor's much larger brother who entered through the door, adorned in his bloody golden armor, his red eyes fixated on Arya. _He's here._

"Without your mask, you can't control him anymore, can you?" Cersei asks, and Arya can practically taste the mad glee in her voice. "What a shame. I'll return in an hour, after I've handled some business elsewhere. I look forward to seeing how your attitude has changed when I return, Arya Stark." Cersei laughs as she exits the dungeon, leaving her giant looming over Arya and the table.

When the door clicks shut and locks, Arya watches with apprehension as The Mountain descends upon her, his golden hand outstretched for her legs…

Arya speaks the words she heard Qyburn use that day on the docks, the day the Mountain had gone wild and killed everyone. She remembered every word, having closed her eyes in order to hear what The Hand had whispered, and Arya repeated them over and over again in her head ever since like a mantra.

" _You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children_."

The Mountain's hand freezes, his fingers mere inches from her flesh. His golden helmet turns and his red eyes glare at her. At first, Arya doesn't know if it worked, so she repeats it: "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children."

Something miraculous happens, something not even Arya had expected. The Mountain reaches up with both his hands and grips at his head, then beneath his visor, Arya hears a muffled moan of pain. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children!" Arya says again, louder and more determined. The Mountain stumbles backward into the dungeon wall, throwing his helmet off his head. Arya was nearly blind, but she could still tell his face was unlike that of a normal human's. She says it again, gaining more and more confidence with every word. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children! You _raped_ her! You _murdered_ her! You _killed_ her _children_! _You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children_!"

The Mountain collapses to his knees, groaning in hellish anguish. Bleeding tears ran down his cheeks and from his ears and mouth, as though his brain were internally expanding. Arya stops short of saying it again, watching the huge man in armor writhe like a child. _I don't know who this woman is he raped and murdered, but it's working! Somehow it's working!_ Arya grins, and says, "Your master is dead. I'm your new master now. If you never want to hear those words again, release me!"

She wasn't sure if he would understand her… when The Mountain climbed to his feet, he reached for her ankles… and broke the chains with his bare hands. He then makes his way to her wrists and does the same. Up close, Arya could make out an expression of absolute sadness on the Mountain's pale, decomposed face. She sits up on the table and examines her broken fingers, wincing at every slight movement.

The Mountain just stands there, staring at her, waiting. Arya looks him up and down, thinking. _Cersei doesn't know about the words. She never would've left him alone with me if she did. Qyburn must've hid it from her so that only he could truly control the Mountain, in case she ever tried to turn him against him._ Arya climbs steadily off the table, gently touching her cheeks with her only working hand. It was still burning hot, but Arya didn't care. At this point, no amount of pain was going to stop her. _And I won't make the same mistake twice._

Arya looks up at the Mountain and says, "Don't just stand there. Open the door. And pick up your helmet, you idiot. We've got a Queen to kill."

 

* * *

Brienne

Three days of rest, and Brienne bid the farmer and his family of seven children farewell. The winter had made it impossible to grow crops. When the farmer found Brienne stumbling through the snow half-awake from exhaustion, he was in the middle of coming home from Winterfell in the north, driving a wagon of goods to keep them fed for the next month. He bundled her up in a wool cloak to keep her warm and promised her a place in his home until she was fit for travel. He even bandaged and cleaned the wound on her arm—all without Brienne ever saying a word to him. The Good Samaritan had asked for nothing in return, and when she asked why he'd saved her, he had simply said, "It's the right thing to do. 'Sides, my children would hardly forgive me, leaving a lady in the snow like that."

"I'm no lady." Brienne had replied then before thanking him for his hospitality. The farmer's name was Willem, and he'd questioned her about her wound and why she was out in the winter on her own with hardly any clothes and nothing to protect herself with. "I was on a mission for Lady Stark. On my return, I was ambushed by Crannogmen." The farmer had spat at this, and said the Crannogmen were a nasty lot, abducting strangers off the road out of paranoia like that. After three days, Brienne's arm was healing and she felt strong enough to travel again. Saying goodbye to all the children had been the hardest part. The boys especially loved to sit and listen to stories about "Being a Knight." even when Brienne explained she was only a sworn sword and not a knight.

Winterfell was still five days travel by horse, and at least two weeks by foot. She would need to stop somewhere first to try and find shelter during the night and maybe a horse—though the Crannogmen had taken all her money… And the longer the blizzard raged, the more Brienne felt stranded out in the blinding white. She trudged along, setting camps up under the thickest trees she could find—but it was so cold and windy that starting a fire with only sticks was out of the question. So Brienne would huddle up in the blanket Willem had given her and she slept like that during the nights… It was significantly better than sleeping in a pit full of her own excrement, anyway.

After several days, Brienne arrived at a familiar location she traveled by once with Podrick while tracking Sansa… The towering, abandoned fortress of Moat Cailin stood proud on its hill in the center of an icy bog. Every step sunk her leg two feet deep into the snow as she crossed the massive field toward the ominous castle above. This was the closest fortress to Greywater Watch, she half expected to find Crannogmen inside…

Halfway there, Brienne comes to a stop, her jaw dropping in horror.

From far away, she hadn't noticed it at first… But now that she was standing here, she could see hundreds of bodies haphazardly buried in the snow. Arms, legs, and heads barely visible under the blanket of white powder were scattered about in all directions… _What the hell happened here?_ Brienne slowly continues, and feels something crack underneath her boot. She stifles a shout when she lifts her foot and sees the crushed skull of a dead wildling woman beneath her. The longer she went on, the more corpses she discovered. She investigated them and found deep stab wounds in all of them—most had multiple gaping, red holes that hadn't crystalized from the winter yet. _This must've just happened. Maybe even just a few hours ago… Who did this?_

Bright red hair catches her attention, and Brienne kneels down beside a half-buried corpse, lifting his face out of the snow gently, and recognizing Tormund Giantsbane _. He's the one who kept giving me those odd looks back in Castle Black. He was a Wildling leader… Why would someone wipe out all the wildlings?_ Brienne frowns, lying the head back down but turning it so that it was no longer face-planted in the snow. Brienne had no love for wildlings, but this man had been Jon Snow's comrade… and despite his strangeness, he'd been kind to her.

And then she saw the white direwolf lying beside a grey direwolf, blood in both of their fur staining the snow red… Tears form in Brienne's eyes as she kneels beside Ghost and gently touches his wet fur, a small part of her hoping… but the poor beast is unresponsive… Brienne looks at the grey direwolf, and knows it to be the same one Howland Reed had under his control. _So this was the Crannogmen's doing… If Ghost is here, then…_

Not far from the direwolves, Brienne found him.

Jon Snow's face was half covered in blood and snow while the other half looked like it was peacefully sleeping, his eyes and mouth sealed shut. His black, curly hair clung to his features, frozen over. Brienne can hardly believe her eyes. _Howland… you monster… How could you do this?_ There's a deep cavity in his chest where he'd been stabbed through the heart. _Just like Renly…_ Brienne wipes a tear from her eye. _Sansa, she can't be here too, can she?_ _No, please Gods, no…_ Brienne stands, turning around to begin searching, even if she has to dig up every last body—but before she can start, the galloping of hooves and the shouting of men in the distance catches her attention.

* * *

Jaime

If someone had told him he would find Brienne standing in the middle of a field surrounded by dead bodies that day, Jaime wouldn't have believed it. Yet as he rode his horse into Moat Cailin's bog, his eyes caught sight of the large woman in the distance. Several of the Brotherhood without Banners shouted and pointed at her. Jaime rides ahead of them as fast as he can.

"Brienne?!" Jaime calls to her. "What are you doing here?!"

Brienne doesn't respond, she just stands there, looking lost… Once he was up close and dismounting his horse, Jaime can tell there is something very wrong here—Brienne's expression said it all. Immediately he went to her, before any of the others could arrive. Brienne wipes her eyes as he reaches out and grasps her shoulder. "Brienne? Are you alright?"

She gestures down by her feet, and Jaime lays his eyes upon Jon Snow. At first it doesn't register with him that the King of the North was lying half buried beneath him, but then he recognizes his face... It was older than when Jaime last met him. Jon had been but a boy then, yet now he was a man grown. A scar over his eye, a black beard around his chin… Davos cries out and collapses down beside Jon's body, his face gone pale. "No!" He wails, bawling in horror, "No! No! How did this happen!?" He glares vehemently up at Brienne, almost accusingly. "TELL ME!"

"It was Howland Reed." Brienne says quietly, "I wasn't here, I just arrived…"

"Oh Gods…" Thoros of Myr sighs, grimacing down at Jon's corpse. "We were too late…"

"How do you know this was Howland Reed?" Jaime asks Brienne.

"He held me captive for weeks." She explains, "He despises the Targaryens and Jon is…well, he said Jon was…"

"No…" Davos sobs, "This can't be…"

"He held you captive?! Why?" Jaime demands to know.

"I told him I was loyal to Jon because he is Sansa's family…" Brienne looks around at the countless bodies around them, pain-stricken, "Sansa could be here somewhere. I have to look…"

"My men will look for you." Beric says, his expression as hard as stone as his one eye glares down at Jon Snow… He nods to his men and they all dismount and begin searching. "Tell me more about this Howland Reed."

"First tell me who you are." Brienne narrows her eyes at him suspiciously.

"They are the Brotherhood without Banners." Jaime tells her, "Beric Dondarrion is their leader. They were traveling north to meet with Jon and swear fealty."

"Howland Reed was supposed to be loyal to the Starks too." Brienne says, "What about you? Why are you here?"

Jaime sighs, glancing down at Jon again. "Cersei sent me to… no, it doesn't matter." It would be inappropriate to reveal why he was really there. He expected he would end up having to fight Jon himself… _Someone killed him first, though. This Howland Reed, fellow… Cersei will be pleased._

"Why was Jon out here and not in Winterfell?" Thoros questions, kneeling down beside Jon's head and inspecting his wound. "It doesn't make sense…"

"I don't know." Brienne sadly admits.

Davos was weeping beside himself, clutching Jon's hand in his own. Jaime hardly knew the man, but after traveling on the road with him for a few days, Jaime had come to respect Davos Seaworth. Seeing him like this broke his heart. Davos abruptly looks to Thoros, and says, "You. You're a… a priest for the Lord of Light, are you not?!"

Thoros eyes Beric before nodding. "Aye. I am…"

"Then you can bring him back!" Davos shouts. "I've seen it! You can bring him back just like the Red Woman!"

"I'm afraid not." Thoros says, "There's only one man I can bring back. He's standing behind you."

"What are you trying to say?" Jaime asks with a cocked eyebrow.

"Thoros." Beric Dondarrion says sternly, ignoring Jaime, "It's time."

Thoros's mouth drops in dismay and he stands up, facing Beric with tears in his eyes all of the sudden. "No… No way. You can't mean it."

"I do." Beric says bitterly. "This is why we are here, my friend."

"No!" Thoros shouts, "If you do this I can't bring you back again!"

"Someone mind explaining what you're going on about?" Brienne snaps.

Thoros glares at them angrily, shaking his head. "No. I won't do it, Beric. I won't."

"You must." Beric says, embracing Thoros tightly. Thoros begins to weep and moan, clutching onto Beric like a child. Beric says, "The Lord of Light has given me more life than I deserve. I'm tired, Thoros… This is why we're here. This is the Lord of Light's will. You must understand…"

"I can't lose you!" Thoros pleads. "Please. You're like _my brother_! I love you, Beric!"

"And I you, Thoros." Beric smiles, then leans in and kisses his cheek. When he pulls away, he says, "You know I'm right."

"Damn the gods." Thoros grunts, furiously rubbing his eyes as Beric lets him go and kneels down beside Jon. Thoros kneels next to him, still crying openly. Davos backs up beside Jaime, who is absolutely bewildered. He looks to Brienne to see if she understood what was going on, but she was giving him the exact same look.

"Lord of Light, hear my prayer." Beric whispers, unsheathing a dagger and unfurling the sleeve of his right hand, reveal a scar traveling up his forearm. "Bear witness to my sacrifice and bring back this child from the darkness." He slashes his wrist and blood spills down onto Jon's face. He then guides his wrist over Jon's heart and watches as his blood drips down into it depths.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Jaime snaps.

"Shut it!" Thoros growls at him, before turning his attention to Beric. The two men smile bitterly at once another and together lean their heads in, touching foreheads. "I'll never forget you, my friend."

Beric's face is already going white as blood continues to spill out of him. He lies back into the snow, collapsing in Thoros's arms. The red priest watches Beric's single eye gently slide shut. Beric Dondarrion's last words are a whisper that only Thoros can hear…

"Did he really just kill himself?!" Jaime exclaims in disbelief.

Davos suddenly snatches him by the arm. Jaime turns and sees the old man is full of rage. "Don't interfere."

Jaime opens him mouth to retort, but finds himself unable to. Whatever was going on, the other brotherhood members were all watching as well in silent mourning… Thoros releases Beric Dondarrion and crawls over Jon, pulling his body up and wrapping him in his arms. " _Oh Lord, cast your light upon this man, your servant. Bring him back from death and darkness. His flame has been extinguished, restore it!"_ Thoros prays, repeating it again and again in a hushed voice in Jon's ear. The longer he watches, the more convinced Jaime became that Beric and Thoros were both completely mad.

Jaime shakes his head, about to turn around, and says, "I can't watch this mummer's farce go on any longer—"

Jon Snow gasps to life as air fills his lungs and his eyes fly open. He jerks around in Thoros's arms, breathing and coughing heavily like he had just been rescued from drowning, his face slick with sweat. Both Thoros and Davos cry out with joy. Brienne screams in shock, her hand over her mouth and her eyes bulging. Jaime alone doesn't move or make a sound. He can only stand there and watch as the once dead King of the North is helped up to his feet, clutching his chest and shivering. Jon looks terrified and confused, much like the boy he once was. His eyes land on Davos first, then Thoros, then Jaime and Brienne.

"Who… where… what's going on?" Jon asks, his voice sounding strained. He takes his trembling hand away from his chest and beholds blood smeared across his fingertips. Thoros begins to wipe Jon's face off, water still streaming down his cheeks as he grins with reprieve. Jon shoves him off from him, backing away slowly. "Who are you people!?"

"Jon, calm down." Davos says, "Do you remember me?"

Jon blinks, gawking… then… "Davos?"

Davos smiles and nods with relief. Jaime on the other hand doesn't know what to think. _This must be some sort of trick. He was dead. Or was he? Was this all a show just to trick me? But why? What reason? No. There's too many people here. But this can't be real. This can't be._

Thoros says, "Beric Dondarrion sacrificed his life so that you would return, my King."

Jon just shakes his head, then looks down at Beric's body in the snow. He says, "You're the Brotherhood..."

"Aye."

"Where's Howland Reed?" Jon turns and glowers around the field at all the other bodies. "He was here!"

Brienne answers, "He's not anymore. What _happened_ , Jon?"

"We were ambushed." Jon says sickly, unable to stand any longer and sitting down again in the snow, still trying to catch his breath. He looked like a man who didn't want to be there, like he didn't belong... "Howland Reed and his men. There were thousands of them… They were even hiding under the snow, waiting for us… like they knew we would be coming…"

"Why were you out here in the first place?" Davos asks him.

Jon grimaces. "I'm no longer King of the North. The Northern Lords all decided a Targaryen was not fit to rule. Sansa is Queen now."

" _What_?!" Brienne shouts, confused and shocked. "Sansa? Queen?"

Jon nods grimly. "Aye."

"But Jon, you're not truly a Targaryen, are you?" Davos asks.

"I am. Bran told me…" Jon says.

"And you believe him?" Davos raises his eyebrows.

"Howland said the same thing." Brienne says, "If it's true, then why did you tell the other lords this? You must've known they wouldn't like it?"

"Aye, but I didn't have a choice." Jon glares up at her. "Sansa wanted power, so she told them."

"You could have denied it, Your Grace!" Davos says.

"I'm not _Your Grace_ , anymore Davos. Just Jon… And I wasn't going to keep lying to them. They deserved to have a choice." Jon sighs, standing up again and touching the hole in his chest with a disturbed expression. Jaime notices it's no longer bleeding… in fact, the wound had completely sealed itself. _This has to be a dream. There's no way this can be possible._

"I was on my way to find Daenerys Targaryen." Jon continues, "Sansa forced every wildling in Winterfell to leave with me… Now they're all dead."

"No… Sansa wouldn't do this…" Brienne mutters.

"I'm telling you, she did." Jon scowls, visibly angry and hurt.

"She couldn't have known this would happen!" Brienne says defensively. "She wouldn't!"

Jon doesn't respond. Instead he leans down and picks up Longclaw, sliding it back in his sheath. Eventually he says, "Whether or not she knew, she betrayed me."

"She's your sister!" Brienne snaps, "She wouldn't do this without a reason!"

"Actually she's my cousin." Jon returns coldly. "And I don't know her anymore, nor do I wish to. She has what she wants. As far as I'm concerned, she can keep it. I don't care."

Brienne scowls at him, tears resuming in her eyes. "I won't believe it. I can't. I have to find Sansa. If she's not here then she must still be at Winterfell. If Howland Reed is on his way there then I have to rescue her before it's too late!"

"Go ahead." Jon says, "I wish you the best of luck. I won't be going back, though."

"Where then?" Thoros asks.

"Daenerys Targaryen." Jon answers, "She's the answer. She has dragons, three of them. I don't care if any of you believe me or not. I'll go alone if I have to."

Jaime was still at a loss for words, the conversation taking place before him hardly registering in his mind.

"The Brotherhood is yours, as am I." Thoros says to him.

"You'll always have my support, Jon." Davos says as well.

Jon nods to them without smiling, then lays eyes upon Jaime…

"What about you?" Jon asks.

Jaime frowns, his heart beating in his ears. "What about me?"

"Who are you?"

Davos clears his throat. "This is Jaime Lannister… He's come to see you on behalf of Queen Cersei."

He can't help it. Laughter bursts out of him that Jaime can't control. He clutches his sides, tears in his eyes, unable to prevent the flow of mirth gushing out of him. It was just all so… _ridiculous!_ Everyone stares at him, waiting for Jaime to settle down. _How am I the only one laughing at this?!_ When he finally ceases, he wipes his eyes and says, "This has been quite the show. I don't know what sort of game this is, but I'm not falling for it."

"I don't blame you." Jon says, and he smirks for the first time since coming back. "Believe it or not, this is the second time I've come back to life, Lannister."

"I'm sure it is." Jaime says dismissively. "Davos is correct, I'm here to see the King of the North. But considering you're no longer the King, I don't really see any need to talk to you at all anymore."

"What?!" Davos shouts, "But Jaime? What about—"

"My sister sent me here to make peace with the ruler of the north, whoever that may be." Jaime interrupts. "As great as this little show was, I'm afraid I've wasted enough time here. Unless you plan on stopping me, I think I will continue traveling north to Winterfell to meet this new Queen."

"No one will stop you." Jon tells him. "I have no interest in starting a war with the Lannisters. My sister on the other hand might not be so understanding."

"Well I have a lifetime experience dealing with irrational sisters." Jaime smiles. "I'll take my chances." He looks at Brienne and asks, "Mind if we travel together?"

Brienne just nods, her eyes down at her feet, deep in thought. She was clearly troubled by this news of Sansa. _She takes her duty way too seriously. Gotta respect her for it, though._

Jon stands again and says to Jaime, "I'll be heading for King's Landing. That's where Daenerys Targaryen is said to make landfall. She could even be there right now."

"Right." Jaime rolls his eyes. He knew Daenerys Targaryen existed, but the last he'd heard from her she was just some girl who freed slaves across the narrow sea. Rumors of her dragons had also reached his ears, but like all myths and fantasies, Jaime didn't believe them. "Good luck finding your Dragon Queen, Jon Snow. Perhaps if you're lucky Cersei won't have your head on a spike by the time I return. Then again, apparently Thoros can just bring you back, so who knows. Maybe we can share a drink someday."

Thoros just shakes his head, scowling at Jaime while Jon proceeds over to where Ghost lay dead in the snow beside the other direwolf… He reaches out and touches Ghost's face. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you, my friend." He whispers to the white wolf, "Thank you for being there for me, I'll never forget you…"

He then looks to the grey direwolf and closes his eyes, remembering how the wolf had cried after he plunged his sword through her. "Nymeria… that's what she named you, right?" He pets her fur as well, even though she couldn't feel it… "If I ever find Arya again, I'll let her know you were proud and strong, even in death."

"Brienne, as much fun as I'm having, I say we take our leave." Jaime says, turning to approach his horse. "You can ride with me."

Brienne follows and he helps her up after him. His heart quickens in his chest as she wraps her muscular arms around his midriff, holding onto him. When he looks back, he sees that Brienne is still crying silently. _What do I say? How do I comfort her?_ Jaime looks on to the snows ahead and spurs his horse forward, bidding farewell to Davos and Thoros, who wave goodbye and follow Jon Snow in the opposite direction.

 

* * *

Bran

When Bran arrived at Harrenhal in the middle of a bright summer day, he found himself surrounded by thousands of people being shepherded through the gates of the massive, black castle. Its jagged towers spiked up into the sky, unique in its sharp, sword-like design; Harrenhal was a massive fortress constructed by the Targaryens long ago. In present time, it was a shadow of its formal self, having been melted down by dragon fire in a war Bran knew little about. He'd never seen such a marvel in his life before, and standing underneath its ominous shadow filled Bran with a sense of dread and also purpose. Whatever Bran needed to find was waiting for him here.

Every Lord from every great House across Westeros had gathered here for this tournament. Never in his life had Bran seen so many people in one place. It was crowded everywhere he went. Camps were drawn out up and down the hillside surrounding Harrenhal's walls, sigils on flags flapping over every encampment. The tourney would last the whole day, with a grand feast inside its black hall for the highest-born Houses while the lower were to party outside. Jesters were dancing and juggling for an army of cheering children. An audience of adults were watching a flame swallower spitting gusts of fire up into the sky. Bran passed through them all like a ghost, drifting across the muddy ground in search of a particular sigil. When the grey wolf over a white field appeared over one of the largest encampments, Bran beamed so hard his face hurt.

Rickard Stark was leading his four children around, showing them all the different sights to behold. Brandon, the eldest, was tall and stern with a neat, brown beard and long, handsome hair. Beside him was Bran's father, Eddard Stark. He was a year younger than when Bran had seen him at the tower of Joy, but there was no mistaking his dour, almost grim, expression. Benjen was trailing behind them, the youngest of them, he was absolutely enthralled by the spectacles, especially the fire-breather, whom he stopped to point and shout at with excitement.

Lyanna was the only one who appeared bored by the whole thing. She trails behind her brothers and father, her hands held together behind her back, her eyes scanning the sea of people without interest, searching for something that might catch it. Her eyes pass straight through Bran, who feels a strange, spine-tingling sensation as they do. She doesn't see him, even though he is standing five feet from her now, following along behind them and listening.

"The welcoming feast will begin soon, we must hurry." Lord Rickard Stark says to them in a deep, commanding voice the brokered no argument. "Lyanna, you'll be able to meet your betrothed soon enough. Wipe that scowl off your face, especially when we are in the presence of our King, understand?"

"Yes, father." Lyanna says flatly, rolling her eyes.

"Why does Lyanna have to marry?" Benjen asks curiously.

Before Rickard can answer, Lyanna beats him to it with, "Because I'm a girl and girls don't get to make decisions about who or when they want to marry."

"That's enough of that!" Rickard snaps, stopping dead in his tracks and glaring down at his daughter with worry. "Lyanna, we spoke of this. I know you don't approve but while we are here it is important you—"

"I know, I know, father—no outbursts. I know." Lyanna rolls her eyes again, placing her hands on her hips.

"King Aerys will not tolerate your attitude; not here, not ever." Rickard warns her.

"Why should he care?" Lyanna asks. "It's not like I'm marrying _his_ son!"

Rickard kneels down, looking around to make sure no one around them was listening. "Lyanna, the Baratheons are a great, proud, and powerful house. They are also one of our oldest allies. Robert Baratheon is a good man, you'll see."

"I don't care." Lyanna says, "I don't want to marry anyone. I want to be—"

"It's out of the question!" Rickard snaps, "I will hear no more of your wild fantasies of becoming a knight, understand? In Winterfell you can dream all you like, but when we're in the presence of our King, you must keep it to yourself!" He stands up, crossing his arms as Lyanna frowns down at her feet. "Come now, let us return to our camp until the feast."

As Lyanna began to trail behind again, Eddard lags behind with her, smiling as he hits her in the shoulder. She smirks and punches him back. "Don't worry." Ned says, "Father is just stressed out."

"Ned, you know Robert. What's he like?" Lyanna asks.

Ned gives a strained grin, "He's… Well, he's a good man, like father said. He's been my friend for ages. I love the man with all my heart…"

"But?" Lyanna sighs.

"He's a fool. You'll hate him at first." Ned admits, chuckling. "But so did I when we first met. It wasn't until after I got to know him that I discovered his charm. You'll have a hard time with him, no doubt, but eventually, I do believe you can grow to love him."

"Then perhaps I should marry him _after_ I've grown to love him instead of _before_." Lyanna grumbles. "Father doesn't care if I _grow to love him_ or not. All he cares about is politics and how our marriage would join our houses. Women are never given a choice, Ned. Don't you see how fucked up that is?"

" _Language,_ Lyanna." Ned warns, eyeing their father up ahead who luckily hadn't heard. "You know that's not true. Father would never do this unless he was absolutely certain it was best for you."

"What about you?" She asks, "Do you think it's what's best for me?"

Ned gives her a side-long glance before answering, "I think you would make a better knight than half the men jousting today. You fight even better than I do, and without proper training. But you're still a woman, Lyanna…"

"Exactly." Lyanna says, "If I'd been born a man I wouldn't have to put up with marriage arrangements and having children."

"But that is the world we live in." Ned reminds her.

"Well the world we live in is horse shit." Lyanna says.

"Don't let father hear you."

As Bran follows them, he watches as Lyanna quietly slips away into the shadows of some tents unnoticed. Startled by this, Bran follows her, his heart racing. His aunt was taking off down a line of tents in the grass—Bran had to run to keep up with her, something he was not used to doing anymore. He chases her out into a clearing of trees near a babbling river, far away from the rest of the camps. Lyanna slows down as she comes upon the water's edge and peers down into it. Bran walks right up to her, wondering what she was doing… Suddenly she bends over and picks up a large stick from the ground and starts swinging it in anger, splashing the water and kicking up rocks. Bran backs away from her, even though the stick would cause no harm to him and he couldn't get wet, and watches her unleash her fury upon the river.

Lyanna stops when a shout in the distance catches her attention. It sounded like a cry of pain. With the stick still in her clutches, Lyanna races off in the direction of the scream and Bran is forced to run again after her, amazed that he could get tired still even as an apparition. They come upon another clearing, this one at the bottom of a hill. A single oak tree stands in the center, and underneath it were four boys. One of them was on the ground crying profusely while the three others, who were younger than the crying boy, kicked at him and laughed. "Stupid frog-eater!" One boy shouts. "Where do you get off coming here, Aye?!"

"P-P-Please!" Whimpers the boy on the ground as another kick lands squarely in his chest.

"HEY!" Lyanna thunders, catching their attention. The three boys turn around. All of them look to be Bran's age. Each of them cast Lyanna an ugly glare.

"Piss off!" The tallest one shouts at her. "We're busy here."

"Leave him alone!" Lyanna commands, unafraid as she strides toward them.

"What are you going to do about it, whore?" Asks the chubbiest of the boys, making the other two laugh. The boy on the ground looks up at Lyanna, tears streaming down his bruised face. Bran thinks the boy looks familiar, but can't place it.

"Oh look, she's got a stick." Says the third bully, his face covered in acne. "The bitch thinks she's tough!"

Lyanna doesn't stop or hesitate. She walks straight up to them and without warning, bludgeons the stick over the face of the tallest one, sending him sprawling backward. Blood sprays across the chubbier boy's stomach from the blow, and before he can react, Lyanna swings the stick at him next, cracking his ear open and sending him tripping into the third boy. All three go down in a heap beside their victim in shock. Lyanna stands over them, her hair blowing in the wind as she growls, "Get out of here before I kill the lot of you!"

"She's mad!" Sobs the chubby one, crawling to his feet. "You'll pay for that, slut!"

Lyanna whacks him again with the stick over his ass as he tries to get up. The three boys flee as fast as their legs can carry them, crying for help. Lyanna watches them go before dropping the stick and reaching down to help the bloody and beaten boy up. He sniffs as he leans against the tree clutching his sides. "Let me look." She says, lifting up his tunic to reveal a huge, black bruise across his abdomen and ribs. He winces as she lowers the tunic back down, her rage dissolving into sympathy. "Are you ok?"

"Y-Yes. Thank you." The boy stutters nervously, his face red.

"What's your name?"

"H-Howland R-Reed." The boy answers.

"I'm Lyanna." She smiles, "Lyanna Stark. Why were those boys hurting you?"

"I'm… I'm a Crannogman. We're not… very popular people…" Howland mutters sadly.

Lyanna grins with excitement. "I've never met a Crannogman before! You're my father's bannerman! That makes us friends, doesn't it?!"

"I… I don't have friends…"

"Nonsense!" Lyanna says, "Come with me. I'll help you back to my tent and clean your wounds. You can meet my brothers!"

"Oh, t-thank you, b-but I…" Howland begins but Lyanna won't hear a word of it. She takes Howland by his hand and leads him back to her camp. Bran follows in amazement. Howland looks like a completely different person without Greyscale. He was almost identical to when Bran had seen him at the tower of joy, only he didn't have a beard and his hair was shorter this time. _Howland told me to find him and to follow him until I get the answers I'm looking for_ , Bran remembers.

He follows them all the way back to the Stark camp where Ned, Benjen, and Brandon are all inside their tent getting prepared for the feast. When Lyanna enters with Howland, all three brothers give them bewildered stares. "Ned, get some bandages and ice, will you?!" Lyanna snaps as she helps Howland over to a bed and lays him down.

"Lyanna, who is this? What's going on?" Her oldest brother, Brandon asks with a frown while Ned rushes to grab the medical aid and join Lyanna by her side.

"This is Howland Reed." Lyanna says, lifting Howland's arms up to help take off his tunic. "I found him being beaten up by some idiots in the woods. He's our father's Bannermen, so don't give me that look, Brandon."

"I-I don't want to cause any trouble." Howland whimpers, his eyes huge with fright.

"Don't worry." Ned smiles, "Any friend of Lyanna's is a friend of ours. I'm Eddard, but you can call me Ned."

Brandon however looks irritated. "Lyanna… what did you do to them?"

"Nothing they won't forget any time soon." Lyanna answers with a sly grin.

Brandon groans, "Gods… Lyanna, if father hears of this…"

"Then we just need to make sure he doesn't hear of this." Lyanna glares over her shoulder at him, then at Ned and Benjen.

"Do you even know who the boys were?" Ned asks her.

"Does it matter? They were beating him up for no good reason. I couldn't just stand there and ignore it!"

They help bandage up Howland's injuries and Lyanna keeps a block of ice against the bruise on his ribs. Bran notices that Howland is watching Lyanna with a transfixed stare, as though he'd never seen a girl before in his life, let alone one that could show him kindness. Ned and Benjen begin talking Howland's ear off, asking him all kinds of questions. Eventually Howland loosens up and stops stuttering. He even laughs when Benjen starts to perform one of his tricks, juggling three tourney swords for a good minute before slipping up, causing all three to come crashing down on his head. Even Bran started to laugh, though none could hear him. He wanted to sit here forever and just enjoy his family's company. Seeing his father's smile and hearing Lyanna's laughter brought tears to Bran's eyes, for he knew this wasn't actually happening—it has already happened. _The past was written and the ink was dry…_ Still, he couldn't help it. He wanted to stay here with them and never leave this tent…

"The feast starts soon." Ned says after what feels like an hour, "We should be going. It was a pleasure to meet you, Howland."

"T-Thank you guys, for everything." Howland says, blinking furiously as he gets up. Lyanna keeps her arm around him to help him balance and he blushes at her when she doesn't let go.

"You should come with us." She says to him.

"What? No—I'm not highborn enough…"

"Nonsense." Lyanna glares at her brothers. "We can disguise him as our young lord cousin. Isn't that right, guys?"

Brandon and Ned both look unsure about this but Lyanna eventually convinces them. Bran is constantly impressed with her persistence. _She sure knows how to get what she wants._ Howland is clearly baffled as Ned gives him a Stark wolf's pelt to drape over his shoulders as well as some of his own spare clothing. When Howland was dressed up, he actually blended in quite well with the rest, in Bran's opinion. Together they make their way out of the tent and up into Harrenhal's courtyard.

As they stand in line being shepherded through the doors, Bran hears Brandon call out to someone. He turns and sees him rushing over to a pair of girls led by an old man Bran recognized to be his grandfather, Hoster Tully. Bran was amazed to see his mother smile as Brandon swept up to her and planted a firm kiss upon her hand. _She's beautiful_ , Bran remembers how originally it was Brandon who was engaged to Catelyn Tully, not Ned… Soon that would all change, but for now, the two of them were grinning like children at each other while Ned strolled past without giving Catelyn notice. Beside them was Bran's aunt, Lysa… and someone else who Bran didn't even notice at first—for he was so small he almost hid in Lysa's shadow. Bran thought he looked vaguely familiar, but couldn't place him. The small lad was watching Brandon and Catelyn with a scowl while Lysa talked endlessly into his ear, their arms locked together. Edmure Tully appears beside the boy, and makes a jest that Bran can't hear over the bustling crowd around him. Bran turns and quickly catches back up with Lyanna, Howland, Ned and Benjen as they enter the Black Hall.

The Highborn Lords from all across Westeros were seated at the high table at the end of the room. Bran could count at least fifty in all. He spotted Lord Rickard Stark talking animatedly with the Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell. Lord Mace Tyrell was singing in a deep, booming voice for Lords Yohn Royce and Lady Ashara Dayne, both of whom were clapping along with merriment and drinking from their cups. The only man at the table who was beside himself in silence was the King himself; Aerys Targaryen II was scanning the Black Hall with narrowed eyes and a wrinkled grimace, his skeletal fingers lifting a golden goblet of wine up to his lips every five seconds. _The Mad King… He sure looks unhappy…_ Next to him, the Hand of the King Tywin Lannister sits like a proud lion watching the feast with little more interest than his King.

Bran finds a seat beside Howland Reed, who goes unnoticed. They are at one of the long tables in the center of the hall. Howland was quietly prodding his food, listening to Lyanna joke around with her brothers across from her. Brandon joined them with Catelyn, Lysa, Edmure, and the other boy, who took a seat directly across from Howland and Bran, still glaring at the eldest Stark boy. Suddenly Bran remembered who he must be, knowing the stories about how Petyr Baelish was famously in love with his mother and even dueled Brandon over her… and lost. _I wonder if that's happened already. He looks just as unhappy as the Mad King right now._

At the other end of the table, Bran hears a commotion and witnesses a giant of a man lifting a tankard of ale and announcing himself the winner of their little contest before gulping down its contents, spilling red alcohol down his bushy beard. Robert Baratheon burps then barks with laughter, slamming his cup back down and demanding more. Bran hears Lyanna sniff with disgust at this, scowling at the man. Ned notices this as well, and whispers something in her ear that turns her disgust into delight, forcing a giggle out of her. The hall was so loud it was hard to hear any of them. Robert takes notice of Lyanna and Ned and comes rushing over to greet them. He bows for Lyanna, but she ignores him, eating her kidney pie with apt interest. When Robert tries again to catch her attention by asking her a teasing question, Lyanna turns to Howland and strikes up a conversation with him, pretending Robert wasn't even there. Howland looks terrified but Robert only busts with laughter and shouts, "THE THRILL OF THE HUNT! HAHAHA! NED, I LOVE HER ALREADY!"

Bran glances up at the high table and notices the Mad King is watching them, particularly Robert, who continues to make a loud, blustering fool of himself, challenging Ned to a drinking contest. Ned denies him, pointing out Robert had already won earlier, and declares him the king of wine. Robert claps Ned on the back, booming with endless mirth.

Bran looks down at the table and tries to pick up a piece of bread, but his fingers pass through it. _Worth a shot._ A young man and woman approach their table. Both of them have golden hair and their clothes look far more expensive and lavish than that of the Starks. The girl has an arrogant smirk on her face, as does her twin brother. The Lannisters and the Starks glare at each other as they pass… and behind them, Bran sees the third Lannister waddling in their wake—nearly invisible in the shadow of his brother. Bran had met Tyrion once when he'd provided him a saddle. Ever since, Bran was fond of the small man. Now however, he was just a boy, hardly older than Ned. His hair was longer and messy, hiding half his face under his bangs. Bran watches as Tyrion sneaks a goblet of wine while his sister isn't looking before they head off to sit at the head of the room.

At once, all the laughter and joy in the room begins to quiet down. Even Robert shuts up and takes a seat. Bran is confused at first, and notices everyone looking up to the front of the room where a man is slowly making his way to a stool. Hair as white as snow flows down his back, hiding his face from sight at first. A golden harp with silver strings is clutched in his hands. As the man takes a seat, he props the harp up against his knees; his deep, purple gaze never leaving the instrument—as though he was entirely unconcerned by the attention he was garnering. Bran's mouth drops and he finds himself striding closer to the man… _He looks just like Jon._

Rhaegar Targaryen begins to play a hauntingly beautiful song, his nimble fingers gliding along the harp's silvery strings with fluid grace, and when the young Targaryen parts his lips to sing, it captures the entire room in a state of awe.

" _All is known. All is known._

_Proud is he who sits the throne._

_Shield and Sword,_

_Obey your Lord,_

_Loyal till Death brings us home._

_All is lost. All is lost._

_A babe born of love,_

_A crown born of lust._

_All are lost,_

_In the Song of Ice and Fire._

_A dragon soars over the northern wall,_

_Bound by magic, it stands forever tall._

_The Watchers wait through the night for their call,_

_While the Winds of Winter drown us all._

_All is known. All is known._

_The wolf howls to the sky,_

_The lion preys on the weak,_

_The stag tries to hide,_

_While the Dragon whispers:_

_All is known._

_All is lost…_

_A King born of the night._

_A babe born of love,_

_A crown born of spite._

_All is lost,_

_In the Song of Ice… and Fire…"_

Silence follows the end of the song. Rhaegar stands up and bows to the room, and is greeted with a huge round of applause. Even Robert Baratheon is booming with joy, shouting: "WHAT A BEAUTIFUL MELODY! MORE, I SAY! LET US HEAR ANOTHER!" though Rhaegar doesn't even look at him in response. Bran observes many women in the room crying, including Lyanna to his shock. Benjen laughs and points at her, so Lyanna upends her cup of juice over his head. _Why did he play such a somber song in the middle of a feast like this? I've never heard it before, he must've wrote it himself._ With the rise of all the commotion, Bran could still hear its melancholy melody in the back of his mind, especially the way he ended it… Bran follows Rhaegar, leaving his family for the moment, and watches as he takes a seat beside the rest of his Targaryen family at the high table, setting his harp down beside his feet before pouring himself a goblet of wine.

Bran notices right away that Rhaegar and his father, The Mad King, did not get along. While all the other high lords, especially Mace Tyrell, gave Rhaegar praise, Aerys didn't even cast his son so much as a look of acknowledgment.

Bran returns to his table in time to hear an argument breaking out. Brandon had approached Petyr Baelish and was telling him he didn't belong here, only highborn were allowed. Edmure comes to Petyr's rescue and says their father had allowed it, for Petyr was like family to them. Petyr Baelish smirks up at Brandon and says, "I'm hardly the only lowborn in this hall, Stark." then glances at Howland Reed in his disguise. "I don't believe we've met." He reaches out and Howland shakes his hand tentatively. "What's your name?"

"He's our cousin." Lyanna says sharply.

"Of course he is." Petyr's tone hints that he didn't believe it. For such a small man, Petyr carried himself with a lot of confidence. Both Jon and Sansa had warned him not to trust a man like this, but again, Bran couldn't help but wonder why. There was nothing special or intimidating about him as far as he could see. Petyr turned to Edmure and began discussing the jousts, making bets on who would win the day's tilts. Edmure put money on Brandon Stark while Petyr bets on Rhaegar.

Bran notices Lyanna is glaring across the hall at another table. "It's them." She whispers to Howland, who looks over and grimaces with fear. "The ones who were beating you up—they're squires for those knights over there." Sure enough, all three of the boys who had kicked at Howland were sitting beside Knights. One of them notices Lyanna staring and whispers something to another boy. Howland quickly ducks his head behind his hands, whispering how he never should have come here. Lyanna however, just glares at the boys, a fire blazing in her eyes.

"Howland, you should fight." Lyanna says, "In the tourney. Ned and I could find some armor and a horse for you—it can't be too hard."

"What?! N-No way." Howland shakes his head, trembling on his seat. "I-I can't fight a knight!"

"Why not?" Lyanna asks, "Those boys are just squires! If you defeat their Knights in the joust you can defend your honor. Those idiots won't even see it coming!"

"I'm just a lowborn Crannogman, though. I-I can't enter a joust! I've never even been in a fight…"

Suddenly the Black Hall was melting away and everyone in it vanishes. Bran is transported into a crowd of people sitting in the stands of the arena, looking out over the lines while the knights fighting that day were announced. He was sitting next to Howland Reed still, and on his other side was Eddard. Behind them, high up in the stands, was the King and his royal family, all except Rhaegar, who was down in the lists riding on a white stallion and wearing armor encrusted with emeralds and rubies. Of all the knights, Rhaegar was the most gallant and impressive of them all, and when his horse strut down the length of the dirt strip, everyone cheered him on and screamed his name. Bran heard Benjen ask his father: "Where's Lyanna?" Bran scans the crowds but sure enough she's nowhere to be found. _That's odd… Where did she go?_

As the jousts begin, Bran keeps his eyes on Rhaegar, who watches the beginning fights while leaning against the railing. Whenever another knight came up to talk to him, Rhaegar would give a curt response, focusing his attention of the fights. _He reminds me so much of Jon it's scary. He's definitely his father. When he wins the tourney, he's supposed to give Lyanna the crown of blue winter roses. That's not until tonight—so something must happen today that makes Rhaegar take an interest in her… but what?_

The three squires who bullied Howland Reed were helping their knights get ready for their first jousts that day… Bran recognizes Houses Haigh, Blount, and Frey's sigils belonging to each of them. Howland ducks down again when one of the squires looks up into the crowd. _Howland is such a craven. Meera would hate to see her father this way._ As the Knight from House Haigh prepared to joust—a new, unknown knight comes charging into the stadium. He was short in stature and wearing mismatched pieces of armor that looked to be from different sets, some bigger and looser than others. On his shield was a white weirwood tree with a red, laughing face instead of its usual crying face. In his other hand was a jousting lance. He points it across the lists at the knight from House Haigh, and in a deep, booming voice shouts: "I CHALLENGE ALL THREE OF YOU TO ONE-ON-ONE COMBAT, IN HONOR OF THE CRANNOGMEN YOUR SQUIRES SHAMED TODAY!"

There are gasps from the crowd. Ned and Howland are both gaping because, like Bran, they knew immediately who this mystery knight was. There are outcries from all throughout the stadium, as well as several of the knights below who were supposed to go up against them. The mystery knight gallops in a circle around the three challenged knights, who all look unsure of what to do. They look up to the King, who has a disturbed expression on his face—as though someone had forced him to swallow a bigger bite of food than he could manage. The Mad King blusters with rage, "Reveal yourself at once!"

"I am the knight of the laughing tree!" The mystery knight roars without fear, "Face me, you _cravens_!"

The Knight from House Haigh grunts, pulling down his helmet with impatience. Suddenly he's charging toward him, his lance at the ready. The knight of the laughing tree rears around and races down the lines, mirroring him. Bran can hardly believe what he's seeing. His father had never told him about this, not once. _It has to be her, but why is she doing this? Just for Howland?_ Bran sees Howland is up on his feet, his eyes wide with fear and exhilaration. The two knights clash and one goes down in a heap. The Mystery knight rides on victorious, and as he does, he points his lance at the knight from House Blount like a dare.

They ride despite the Mad King's screaming. Bran looks up and sees Aerys Targaryen is up on his feet and commanding the newest of his Kingsguard, Jaime Lannister, to stop this madness at once—but Jaime is too invested in the fight to even hear the King's command. As is everyone in the stadium. All eyes were watching as the Knight of the Laughing Tree runs his lance through the shield of his enemy and the knight from House Blount falls onto his face—his horse however keeps running and ends up dragging the man all the way down the lists, screaming his head off much to the audience's enjoyment.

When the last of the mystery knight's challengers charges down the runway, the Mad King's protests are drowned under the cacophony of noise that erupts from everyone. The knight from House Frey is defeated in one fell strike of the lance. The Mystery Knight circles around the arena, shoving his weapon up high in triumph as he declares himself the victor. He then rides past the three squires, all of whom are stumbling to try and help their knights. The Mystery Knight points his lance down at the chubby one's face and he freezes in fear. He says something to them that Bran can't hear over the cheering crowd. Bran watches as the knight of the laughing tree rides off with haste, out of the stadium—and the Mad King explodes: "RHAEGAR! FIND HIM AT ONCE! BRING HIM TO ME!"

Rhaegar Targaryen doesn't respond to his father's order. He does, however, spur his white stallion into action and chases off after the mystery knight. Bran gets up in a hurry—and so does Howland. Both of them climb down out of the crowd and follow after the hoof prints in the dirt. _It'll take forever to catch up to—_

— _them._ Bran blinked and suddenly he was standing in the woods beside the river where Lyanna had gone earlier. Howland Reed was crouched behind a tree, watching something across the running water with interest. Bran follows his gaze, and witnesses Rhaegar and Lyanna facing each other with swords drawn.

"Back off, Dragon boy." Lyanna warns him. On the ground behind her was the knight of the laughing tree's battered shield and mismatched armor. Rhaegar approaches her cautiously… then slips his sword back into his sheath.

"I'm not here to bring you back to my father." He tells her softly.

"Then why have you come?"

"To satisfy a curiosity." Rhaegar smiles warmly at her and Lyanna softens, lowering her blade. "You stunned me in there. I've never seen a rider take out three in the row without missing once. Those knights are experienced jousters, yet they were taken down… by a woman."

Lyanna laughs. "There it is. You think a woman like me must've cheated, is that it?"

"On the contrary," Rhaegar takes a seat on a rock and crosses his legs. "I'd like to know more about you."

Lyanna cocks her eyebrow. "Not going to scold a little lady like me for playing with the boys?"

"You've proven yourself a better fighter than half of the men in that stadium. You won't hear such criticisms from me."

Lyanna paces back and forth, watching Rhaegar suspiciously. Finally she says, "I'll admit, you're not too bad yourself."

"Thank you."

"It's too bad we'll never know which of us is better." Lyanna smirks.

Rhaegar smirks as well. "Not in a joust, no… but hand-to-hand combat…?"

"I was just thinking the same." Lyanna suddenly spins around, aiming a kick at Rhaegar's head. The Targaryen deftly dodges, springing off the rock and swinging a punch at her. Lyanna catches the punch in the palm of her hand, showing off her strength—but Rhaegar expects this and goes in for a tackle—knocking her into the grass and pinning her there. _He's got her!_ Bran thinks, but then Lyanna sends one of her knees up into Rhaegar's stomach and with both of their hands interlocked, pushes him off of her and rolls over him, gaining the upper-hand. They remain like that, face to face, for quite some time, grunting and pushing at each other—neither giving in…

Then both let go and fall away from each other, laughing with exhaustion. Bran comes out of hiding and joins them, but not Howland. He remains hidden, spying on them from behind his tree… Bran pays him no attention, instead listening to Rhaegar and Lyanna complement each other's strength.

"You're going to be late for your match, aren't you?" Lyanna asks him, helping him back up to his feet.

"Aye, but I'm having more fun here with you." Rhaegar says and Lyanna blushes, looking down at her feet.

"You're not going to tell my father what I did, will you?"

"I wouldn't dream of it, my lady."

"Then I suppose I owe you a debt."

Rhaegar shakes his head. "Absolutely not. I'm not like my father. People don't owe me anything."

Lyanna beams up at him and he smiles back. _Is this when they fell in love? It must be… After this, Rhaegar wins the tourney and gives her the crown of winter roses…_ Bran follows them as they begin to head back to Harrenhal. He notices Howland slinking in the shadows behind them, but neither Rhaegar nor Lyanna do.

"Your wife, she's beautiful." Lyanna says to him.

"Elia is beyond beauty. She means everything to me." Rhaegar says. "You are betrothed yourself, are you not?"

"Aye." Lyanna pouts.

Rhaegar notices. "Mine was an arranged marriage as well." He tells her, looking on ahead. "At first, it was… awkward. It took time before we could truly come to love one another…"

"Elia is one thing, Robert Baratheon is another." Lyanna says, making him laugh.

"I've always respected Robert. He's a good man. One of the best fighters in the seven kingdoms. I certainly wouldn't want to face him one-on-one. He'd knock my head in."

"He's a belligerent, arrogant, alcoholic." Lyanna frowns.

"That too." Rhaegar grins. "But most men are, I'm afraid."

"Not you."

"You hardly know me." Rhaegar chuckles. "I may not be belligerent, but you'd be hard-pressed to find a Targaryen without arrogance. And I've been known to enjoy wine from time to time."

"I can't marry a fool like him." Lyanna kicks at some dirt as they walk.

"Is there someone else you fancy?" He asks.

Lyanna blushes. "There's one boy I met today… He was really cute. He's not like any man I've ever met. He doesn't even like to fight or defend himself. At first I thought it was just pathetic, but when you compare him to a man like Robert Baratheon…" Bran looks over his shoulder to see if Howland Reed was listening to this, but he was too well-hidden to find.

"Is it the Crannogmen whose honor you defended?" Rhaegar asks.

"You're smarter than you look, Dragon boy."

"I'll make sure to remember that." He laughs. "Well, I'm no expert on relationship advice… but let me ask you this: Do you believe in fate?"

"Not really." Lyanna shrugs. "Do you?"

"I do." Rhaegar nods, "This might sound self-indulgent, but have you heard about the circumstances of my birth?"

"Summerhall." Lyanna looks sadly up at him, "Yeah, I've heard the stories…"

"I was born the day most of my family died." Rhaegar says, "My great grandfather was attempting to hatch dragons… when something went wrong, and Summerhall caught fire as my mother gave birth to me. Most people say they don't remember the day they're born, but I still do… I still remember the flames as my mother named me… It's such a hazy memory, but when I think about it… I remember the feeling of the heat washing my face… the only reason I survived was because of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Duncan the Tall, they called him. He saved my mother from the flames and carried her out just as the roof came collapsing down. He went back in to save the King, despite my mother's protests. I never knew the man, yet I owe my life to him… Ever since I learned this story, I became… obsessed with finding out what happened… You know what I discovered?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Not one clue." It was Rhaegar's turn to kick up dirt as they walked. "All my life I've been searching for an answer that doesn't exist… I've come to accept that it was fate. Whatever happened that day was meant to happen the way it did, and it doesn't matter what the answer is… because in the end, I've been given a life that could've been prevented and I'd have no say in the matter at all…"

"That's… kind of depressing, though… isn't it?" Lyanna shakes her head. "I can't _believe_ that way. If fate controls us then there's no meaning behind anything. Without choice, what is the point of living?"

Rhaegar doesn't answer her. He only stares, deep in thought, into her eyes… "Maybe you're right. But what do you do when control is taken away from you?"

"You fight." She says. "You fight until you can't fight anymore. That's what I'd do."

Rhaegar chuckles. "I wish I'd known you sooner."

"Why's that?"

"Robert is a lucky man." He tells her and she blushes so furiously Bran thought steam might come out her ears. "Forgive me, I tend to speak without thinking."

"It's alright." She mutters, furtively glancing from him to the ground to him again as they continue along in silence… Bran follows, his cheeks hurting from smiling. _This is how they fell in love, it must be…_

But then…

"I still believe in fate. If fate has called for you and Robert to be together, then I wish you both the best future possible." Rhaegar says as they exit the forest, Harrenhal's towers making themselves known in the distance. "Fate brought Elia and I together and I wouldn't have it any other way. Give fate a chance, Lyanna Stark."

"If you say so." She sighs. "Thanks for the advice. I guess this is where we part ways?"

"For now." He turns and bows to her, kissing her hand. "Perhaps I can attend the wedding?"

"I'd like that." She grins. "You should write a song for the occasion."

"Nothing would delight me more."

Bran watches as the two part ways, Lyanna heading to the Stark camps while Rhaegar made way to the stadium, guiding his stallion. Panic settles in the pit of Bran's stomach as he watches the two leave… _No… They… That can't be it? That can't…_ Rhaegar hadn't shown any sign at all that he would give her the crown of winter roses… if anything, he'd done the opposite and supported her marriage with Robert… _This isn't right… This can't be how it happens… Did I screw something up?_ Bran follows Rhaegar, and watches him come to a stop to take a piss near some barrels of hay.

Bran didn't understand. Rhaegar was going to win the tourney when he goes back inside… If he doesn't give Lyanna the crown… then Jon is never conceived… _the entire future could change!_ As this dawns on him, Rhaegar begins to buckle his pants back up… As he turns to head in, Bran shouts in desperation: " _WAIT_!"

Rhaegar stops, wheeling around in alarm. Like his father once acted when Bran had called out to him, Rhaegar simply stood there, his eyes searching for the owner of the voice… Bran knew what he must do… This was why he'd come here… this was his purpose for being here… the answer to his question…

" _Rhaegar_!" Bran walks right up to him and grabs a hold of his hand. At first he was convinced it would pass straight through… he feels Rhaegar's flesh in his own, and Rhaegar's eyes land directly upon Bran.

The Targaryen screams, stumbling backward—forcing Bran to let him go as he unleashes his sword. "What—where—where did you go?! Show yourself!" He shouts, spinning around wildly in fear.

_He saw me. Just for that second while I touched him, he could see me!_

"Rhaegar, calm down!" He shouts loudly and Rhaegar seems to hear him.

" _Who's there!?"_

Bran reaches out and tentatively takes Rhaegar's hand in his own. The moment he does, Rhaegar locks eyes with Bran and raises his sword… but he doesn't swing.

"You can see me?" Bran asks.

Rhaegar gulps and lowers his sword slowly, his face sweating. "I… Yes, I can see you…"

"My name is Bran Stark." He says, "I'm… I'm from the future. I don't have much time. You have to listen to me, Rhaegar!"

"What is this? Is this some sort of trick?" Rhaegar stammers, lowering his sword and glancing down at their interlocked fingers. "Why are you…?"

"Shut up and listen!" Bran snaps, "You're going to win the tourney today. Understand? When you win, you're going to be given the right to hand the crown of blue winter roses to whichever woman in the audience you find to be the most beautiful."

"What? That's… how could you possibly—?"

"You have to give it to Lyanna Stark! Understand me!? You have to give it to _Lyanna Stark_!" Bran shouts, "The two of you are going to have a baby! You have to do this! Understand me!? The world depends on it! When the White Walkers come, your son is going to be the one we need!"

"I-I don't understand…" Rhaegar stammers, letting Bran go. No doubt, Bran must've disappeared again, because suddenly Rhaegar was looking all around him in confusion. "I must be going mad…"

Bran grabs him again, this time getting right in his face. Rhaegar tries to push him off but his hands going straight through Bran like he was made of smoke. "You have to give Lyanna the winter-rose crown! You have to! Then you have to… you have to abduct her! Or convince her to go with you—either way! Have a baby with her! Understand me?! You have to do this! Lyanna Stark! The future depends on this, Rhaegar!"

Rhaegar just stares at him at a complete loss for words… When Bran lets him go, Rhaegar stumbles backward into his horse… then he calls out, "Are you still there?"

Bran doesn't answer… He waits until Rhaegar eventually goes back inside the stadium before following, his heart beating rapidly in his ears. _This was my purpose for coming here… The past is already written and the ink is dry. This is always the way it happens… it must be…_

_If it's not, then I might've just screwed everything up…_

_NO! The past is written and the ink is dry! That's what the Three-Eyed Raven told me. This is what always happens… Rhaegar… Please… don't let me down._


	8. Rise and Fall

The Battle For King's Landing

 

The moment the sun touched the sky it all began.

Drums boomed along every ship, foreboding the war that was to come. Beyond the city walls, the tower bells were ringing a warning to its citizens. Everyone in King's Landing knew about the invasion, having witnessed the dragons with their own eyes. Families were hiding in their homes, clutching their children and whispering words of comfort. Lannister Soldiers and the city's Gold Cloaks were amassing on the eastern walls over Blackwater Bay. Randyll Tarly was the Lord Commander, and he barked orders at his lieutenants up and down the length of the parapets, his face red and glistening with sweat. The men could tell their leader was nervous, and it darkened their spirits. Together they had 60,000 strong, or at least that was Randyll's estimates… Looking out over the bay, he calculated the enemy's strength being less than half their numbers. _We can beat them back. Even with dragons, they don't have the numbers to defeat us._ He orders the archers to nock, draw, and hold until he gave the word to release. His command was repeated down the length of the wall until every archer followed suit.

In the bay, the Ironborn and the Unsullied were preparing life boats to board the coast while every ship stayed just out of the archer's range. Theon Greyjoy joined his sister Yara and grasped her arm. "I'll see you on the shore, little brother!" She tells him over the thundering of drums. Theon nods, tears in his eyes. She notices and smiles teasingly, wiping his face off with her thumb. "Don't be afraid. This is _our_ day!"

Greyworm was ordering his men around with a hard expression, their boats steadily getting closer and closer to the shore. Missandei gradually approaches him and the two give each other one last, long stare… He begins to turn to join his men in the life boats…instead he marches toward Missandei, grabs her around the waist, and plants a firm kiss upon her lips. When he pulls away, she whispers: "Come back to me."

Aboard _the Red Wind_ , Tyrion and Daenerys watch the vanguard of their fleet begin the invasion from Drogon's back. The three dragons were anxiously awaiting their mother's word to take flight, but Tyrion had advised her to wait until the right moment. The drums steady rhythm abruptly ceased, signaling that Greyworm and the Ironborn were ready. Up above, the black sky was slowly illuminated by the sunlight, revealing the thousands of men along the walls—black specs on the horizon. Daenerys shouts: "FLY!" and Drogon takes off, followed in tow by Viserion and Rhaegal. Tyrion grips onto her waist as tight as he can to keep from slipping off. Daenerys is taken high above her army—then above the walls of King's Landing—then above the Red Keep itself. They sky-rocketed up until Dany nudges Drogon's sides. The black dragon turns to plummet downward—and the city rushes up to meet them.

As they fall, Randyll Tarly points his sword up at them and cries: "LOOSE!"

Every archer—at least twenty thousand in all—releases an arrow. The archers around Randyll, who stands above the Iron Gate with mostly Tarly soldiers, aim at the dragons above while the rest along the walls fire volleys down into the invading ships. Screams from the Ironborn and Unsullied could be heard down below—but Dany forces herself to focus and shouts: "DRACARYS!"

All three dragons release a gust of fire that envelopes the arrows coming their way, incinerating them all. The dragons burst through the smoke and fire they create—and this time it's the men on the walls turn to scream. Drogon's shadow sweeps over it, and a torrent of flames rushes down to meet all that cross its path. Hundreds are swallowed in the fire, their screams piercing the sky as men go tumbling down over the edge.

Down in the bay, Theon witnesses the destruction above and releases a battle cry to spur his men forward. They row with all their might as arrow plunge into the water like deadly rain drops. The Ironborn man on his right is sent spiraling into the sea when two arrow bury themselves in his chest. They hide under upraised shields, deflecting as many as they can. Theon sees Yara board the shore with her soldiers first, commanding everyone to charge the Iron Gate. The Unsullied were leading a boarding party up the length of Blackwater Rush to break down the Mud Gate. By the time Theon's feet land in the sand, thousands of their soldiers were already there—arrows came plunging down into their shields, however several unlucky Ironborn with Theon were struck down in the blink of an eye. Theon looks back and realizes he's the only one from his life boat to survive the onslaught. _Well done, Theon. Why don't you lower your shield and take one for the team!?_ Theon grunts angrily, unable to force Ramsay's voice out of his thoughts as he joins Yara at the Iron Gate. Her face is speckled with blood from her own fallen comrades, but her eyes are alive with excitement. The Ironborn carry a long, metal battering ram up from the ships. Yara spurs them on—but several men carrying it are shot down halfway there. Theon takes it upon himself to rush over and help, screaming at the men still lifting it not to give up! They somehow manage to bring the battering ram up the beach and repeatedly smash it into the gates. Rocks come tumbling down over their heads, crashing skulls open and spilling bodies around their feet.

Greyworm is still leading the Unsullied along the beach in formation—their shields deflecting every arrow and rock. When they reach the mud gate, they reveal a second battering ram they'd been hiding beneath their shields. It crashes into the gate and after the first blow its hinges give way—the gate was still weakened from the battle with Stannis! The gates blow apart with ease—and Greyworm's army is suddenly face to face with the Lannisters inside. Both sides holler with rage and clash inside the gateway—spears soaring over heads—swords and shields clanging—blood spilling—Greyworm experiences it all in the thick of it, ducking and dodging and weaving his way through the Lannisters with his spear, plunging it through every man in red armor in his way. One of the Lannister soldiers catches him off guard, knocking him upside the head with their shield. As Greyworm stumbles back in a daze, the Lannister raises his sword—and out of nowhere comes Strong Belwas like a boulder, throwing Lannisters out of his way with his bare hands, knocking their heads against the stone walls and slicing his curved arakh through their exposed necks. Greyworm thanks the giant man for his help—but his gratitude goes unheard over Strong Belwas' bellowing war cry. He laughs as several Lannisters attempt to slash their swords across his bulging belly, but they might as well have tried to cut down a tree—for their blades hardly sunk an inch deep. Strong Belwas cuts them down out of his way, leading the charge with Greyworm through the mud gate and into the city—where thousands of Lannisters and Gold Cloaks await them.

Randyll Tarly abandons the walls, commanding all of his men to do the same and retreat inside the city. The dragons are simply too much for them to handle. Drogon had landed atop the parapets and the two others were encircling him, breathing a wall of fire up and down the length of the wall. Drogon picked up Gold Cloaks in his jaws and threw them out over the wall where the plummeted down to their deaths, screaming all the way. _This is hopeless!_ Randyll thinks, running down the steps and into the city where five thousand Tarly and Lannister soldiers are watching the inside of the Iron Gates sway under the pressure from outside. "When they break through, FIGHT!" Randyll barks to them all, "FIGHT TO THE LAST MAN! AND AIM YOUR GOD DAMN ARROWS AT THOSE DRAGONS!"

Despite his command, whenever they fired at the dragons, their arrows didn't seem to do a thing. The half of them that managed to hit would simply bounce off their armored scales. Daenerys and Tyrion were ducked down low along Drogon's spine as arrows whistled past their heads. "We can't stay here!" Tyrion cried behind her, "It's too dangerous! Take us back up!"

To Dany's shock, she didn't need to give the command. It was as if Drogon had understood what Tyrion had said, his wings spreading out as the black beast took flight once more, his siblings following him as he descended over the city itself. Down below, the Lannisters were swarming to the inner gates like little insects. Dany scans across the city to the west, and smiles.

The Dothraki, the Tyrells, and the Martells had arrived outside the western walls blowing war horns to signal their arrival. The walls there were completely undefended on their end. The dragons soar over the cityscape and the smallfolk all cry out and point up at them in awe. "Where are we going?" Tyrion asks her.

"To knock down those gates for them."

Randyll commands a thousand of his men to follow them there just as the Iron Gates give way and the Ironborn charge inside the city. Yara Greyjoy leads the way, swinging an axe in one hand and a shortsword in the other, laughing at every Lannister and Gold Cloak that gets in her way. Theon is amazed by her prowess in battle, and hears Ramsay taunting him again: _She's got bigger balls than you. She's making you look bad, Reek!_

Deep beneath the city, Jorah Mormont was leading a party of a hundred Unsullied men through the catacombs. Varys had given him a map with directions to the Alchemist's guild. They had started while it was night out, yet after hours of trudging through dark, muddy tunnels, Jorah was beginning to think the Spider had lied. It wasn't until they reached a long, well-lit chamber full of empty shelves that Jorah realized they were here. Just as the Imp said, chains hung from the ceiling where vats of sand swung suspended in mid-air. _But where's all the wildfire?_ Jorah commands his men to spread out and find them. He finds an old man in a cowl at the end of one of the tunnels and sneaks up on him, pinning him against the wall. The alchemist squeals in fright, his hands up in the air. "Don't kill me, please!" He moans.

"Where is it?!" Jorah snarls, his new, fiery arm pulsating heat. The alchemist whimpers and says he doesn't understand. "WHERE IS THE WILDFIRE?! TELL ME!"

"T-T-They took it!" The alchemist says.

"Who?!"

"The children! They took all of it!"

"WHERE?!"

"I-I'll show you. F-Follow me…"

Up above, Daenerys and her dragons land on the ground behind each of the three western gates. "Dracarys!" She commands, and all three release their flames upon the gates themselves—melting through the metal and wooden beams until they were no more. As the smoke billowed up into the sky—the Dothraki came charging through, screaming with lust as their horses gallop past starving peasants in the street. Dany watches them, and is relieved to see that they are following her orders and leaving the civilians alone. The Tyrells and Martell forces follow them inside, and Dany observes as a hundred and fifty thousand soldiers spread out down every street. The Tarly soldiers who Randyll ordered to meet them were quickly run down by the Dothraki screamers without mercy.

"We've done it." Tyrion says in Dany's ear. "We've successfully invaded the city. We have Cersei's army cornered! There's nowhere for them to run!"

Daenerys smiles as Drogon roars. "Let us find the Mad Queen and put an end to this."

In the Red Keep up on Aegon's High Hill overlooking the war that surrounds it, one might expect Cersei to be overlooking the conflict from her chambers and drinking from her goblet of wine. But she is not there. Cersei has no interest in watching the battle. She has no interest in any of it, in fact. Cersei is strolling down into the dungeons surrounded by six new Queensguard she'd hired overnight. One of them was Dickon Tarly himself, her savior. He'd bashfully accepted the responsibility of defending his Queen when she proposed the job to him. The other five were just the biggest and toughest soldiers she could find—Cersei had heard their names when they announced themselves to her, but she hardly cared enough to remember them. She led them to the dungeon she kept Arya Stark, expecting to find the Mountain in the middle of raping her… When she opens the door, however, Cersei freezes… her smile dissolving into a scowl… They were gone. Both of them. The chains broken on the table…

"What's the matter, Your Grace?" Dickon asks behind her.

"Nothing." Cersei seethes, closing the door. "Come. Let us return to the throne room. Keep your eyes open. I don't want any surprises getting there."

"Surprises?" Dickon blinks and looks at the other newly elected Queensguard, all of whom appeared frightened by Cersei. "You mean that girl from last night?"

"Yes, you idiot, that's exactly what I mean."

"Wasn't… the Mountain with her?"

"Yes. Stop asking so many questions." Cersei's fingers were bleeding, balled up in clenched fists. She had her guards lead her up out of the dungeons, checking every corner for signs of an ambush. Dickon kept talking the whole way up. "Shouldn't we be fighting with the rest of the men, Your Grace?"

"You're place is by your Queen. No doubt you'll get your chance to fight soon enough." Cersei scowls, her eyes scanning every dark hallway they traversed through, convinced that at any moment The Mountain would appear with Arya to strike her down…

They make it all the way to the throne room without trouble though. Cersei climbs the steps and takes her seat on the throne and her Queensguard stand in a circle around her at her whim. _Wherever she went, she's sure to try again._ She glares around at every pillar, suspecting the Stark girl to be hiding in here—paranoia pounds nails into her mind. "Come on out, Arya Stark!" She suddenly calls, much to her guard's surprise.

"Your Grace?" Dickon asks unsurely.

Cersei ignores him. "I know you're hiding in here somewhere! _Show yourself_! You'll run out of time before long!"

Her voice echoes across the throne room, reverberating off the stone walls and high ceiling. The Queensguard shuffle in their armor nervously... Cersei clenches up, her fingers slicing themselves across the iron barbs around her… Nothing answered her… nothing moved…

Until the Mountain steps out from the shadows near the front of the room. With him, as Cersei predicted, was Arya Stark. Her face was red and peeling from the scalding wine Cersei had poured over it and every finger on her right hand was still broken—but it appeared as though she's forced them back into their sockets and bandaged them up so that her entire hand was a glove of white cloth. The Queensguard all rush to stand in a wall between her and the Queen, their swords drawn. The Mountain draws his greatsword and strides toward them.

"Ser Gregor Clegane, I command you to cut that girl down this instant!" Cersei shrieks, standing from her throne. The Mountain doesn't even seem to hear her though, and Arya cackles with laughter.

"He's mine now." Arya says. "Mountain, kill anyone that defends her."

"Impossible!" Cersei shrieks with rage. "MOUNTAIN! KILL HER NOW!"

The Mountain lifts his greatsword and the Queensguard scatter in fear—all except Dickon Tarly, who bravely raises his shield to block the attack. The greatsword bend the metal under its weight, breaking Dickon's arm with a thick _CRUNCH!_ The young boy wails in agony, dropping to his knees as the Mountain delivers a kick to his face. The toe of his boot sinks through Dickon's skull and smashes out the back of his head—spraying brain matter across the throne room floor. Dickon's body collapses… and the rest of Cersei's Queensguard flee the room in terror, abandoning Cersei Lannister and her throne…

The Mountain lowers his sword as Arya joins him at his side, grinning wide-eyed up at the Queen. "How does it feel?" Arya asks, "Knowing that you had me in the palm of your hands and I still slipped through?"

Cersei's lips trembled and her eyes glistened with tears… Slowly, she reaches down and removes Widow's Wail from her sheath. "Alright, Arya Stark… You've got me. Well done… You can kill me right now if you wanted… But after all the hard work you went through to get here… you wouldn't want the job to be done by some mindless servant… no… you want to kill me yourself, isn't that right?"

Arya draws Needle and says, "You're right." then glances up at the Mountain. "Go watch the doors, you idiot. Don't let anyone enter."

The Mountain turns and obeys. Cersei grimaces as she descends her stairs, the valyrian steel sword in her hand gleaming under the torchlight. "Your pride will be the end of you, Arya."

"We'll see about that." Arya says, spreading her legs and placing her injured hand behind the small of her back. With her left hand she points Needle up at the Queen in the water-dancing stance she'd learned from Syrio.

"Do you even know how to swing that thing?" Cersei asks.

"Better than you know how to swing yours." Arya retorts.

Cersei scowls. "I've seen my brother fight many times. I might not be a warrior, but I know a thing or two about fighting."

"Then shut up and come at me." Arya growls.

The Stark and the Lannister glare each other down while the commotion of battle rages on outside the walls.

Cersei screams, lunging for Arya—and Widow's Wail clashes with Needle!

Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion descend over the vast city with an ear-splitting roar. Beneath them, the Dothraki hoard galloped on horseback down every street toward the east and south of King's Landing where the battle was taking place. The Ironborn and the Unsullied were successfully pushing through the Lannisters, Tarlys, and Gold Cloaks while the walls above raged with fire. The trapped soldiers could be heard screaming as fire overtook their position. Daenerys and Tyrion watched in awe and horror as those who were stuck between the growing flames decided to leap off the walls and fall 300 feet to their deaths rather than be burned alive.

In the midst of the battle, Theon was nearly crushed by the bodies raining down into the streets. They crashed in an explosion of blood and limbs—A Gold Cloak Theon was clashing swords with was abruptly crushed underneath one of these bodies—and a splash of warm blood masked his face in red. Up ahead, Yara is spinning through their enemies like a tornado, her shortsword and axe deftly tearing apart the Lannisters while her soldiers fought on bravely by her side. Theon rushes to join her, his ears pounding painfully. The street they were on was packed from end to end with men fighting.

"PULL BACK!" Randyll Tarly yells to his soldiers, "PULL BACK TO THE RED KEEP!"

Before they could—the Dothraki appeared on their flanks, their horses colliding with the Lannisters before they can see them coming. The cavalry easily charges down the streets, running over every man in red or gold armor in their way. From up above, Dany and Tyrion watch with grins as their armies force the enemy back down side-streets toward the Red Keep. "We have them on the run." Tyrion says to his Queen, "Half of their army is already wiped out. We've all but won the battle!"

But Dany couldn't pretend that they hadn't suffered losses as well. In the wake of the battle, thousands of Ironborn and Unsullied lay strewn about the road. It was impossible to count just how many—but from the skies she could tell Tyrion was right—their army now heavily outweighed the Lannisters. The smallfolk watching the battle from their homes could be heard cheering Dany's name with joy. Tyrion points this out, saying: "The people are on your side! You've given them a miracle, Your Grace."

Inside the throne room, an entirely different battle was taking place. Cersei Lannister slashes Widow's Wale over Arya's head—who is small enough to dodge her attacks and nimble enough to counter—thrusting Needle up at Cersei's chest—but Widow's Wale deflects it every time she does—and their dance continues. The valyrian steel was the sharpest steel in all of Westeros—and Arya was well aware that one wrong move and she would be cut in half with ease—no matter how strong the arm wielding it was. Cersei knew this as well, and was relentless in her swings—focusing more on offense than defense. Cersei was no warrior, but she'd seen Jaime fight more time than she could count-as well as many other duels and trials by combat. Despite her lack of training, it was the Queen's animosity giving her strength-and made her more of a threat than Arya predicted. Arya keeps her footing, using Needle to redirect Cersei's attacks rather than blocking—for Widow's Wale was more than capable of slicing her Needle in half. More than once Arya felt the edge of Widow's Wale come narrowly close to slicing off a piece of her—but Syrio had taught her well; she dodges and redirects, searching for the right moment to strike… Quick as a cat, Arya plunges Needle forward as Cersei comes off of a missed swing—and the pointy end of her thin blade penetrates the black hide of her armored dress—but not enough to draw blood. Cersei emits a terrifying laugh—and her Valyrian Steel comes down over Needle. Arya pulls back but not fast enough! Luckily Needle isn't broken—only knocked from her grasp, clattering to the floor several feet away. _Shit!_ Arya dives for it as Cersei charges in for the kill. Widow's Wale smashes into the throne room's floor, inches away from Arya's legs as the young wolf rolls—simultaneously grabbing Needle once again—and when she's back on her feet, Cersei is rushing in, both hands gripping her weapon high up in the air. Arya can't block it—or Needle would break—and she doesn't have time to dodge this time… So Arya does the only thing she can—and lifts up her injured, unusable hand to shield her face—the Valyrian steel cuts clean through her wrist and Arya's maimed hand is separated from her arm in a gush of blood. The pain sends fire up her wrist and she screams, stumbling backward, gawking at her bleeding stump for only a second—for that was all Cersei afforded her as she moved in to finish the job.

Less than 20,000 Lannisters and Gold Cloaks remained as they swarmed the steps of the Red Keep, their backs to the castle, as more than a 150,000 of Dany's troops surround them. Randyll Tarly is at the head of it, fighting off Yara and Theon Greyjoy both. Up above the three dragons circled the scene, breathing fire through the air, sending chills down the Lannister's spines. Yara and Theon have the upper-hand—not even the battle-hardened Lord Commander could keep up—so Randyll throws his weight into Yara, ignoring Theon as he pins her down on the steps, choking her out with his hands. Theon swings his sword down on his back, sinking it through his skin—but Randyll Tarly doesn't stop! Yara gasps for breath, kicking and pushing to no avail. Theon lifts his sword out and swings again—and again—hacking at Randyll's back over and over, screaming: "GET OFF MY SISTER!" _That's it Reek! Hit him again! Hit him again!_

One of the Tarly lieutenants tackles Theon and the two men roll down the steps into the legs of Ironborn and Lannisters—toppling everyone over. A boot collides with the right side of Theon's face—blinding him with pain. The man who tackled him has his sword up in the air and as it comes down, Theon tries to recall one last happy memory—but to his horror, he cannot. The blade freezes mere inches from his face as a spear juts through the lieutenant's neck, and this time blood blinded him. He growls as Greyworm reaches down and helps Theon up to his feet. He turns and finds Yara has managed to bury her axe in Randyll's skull. She shoves him off of her and gets back up to continue the fight, her eyes bright with fury.

That's when Drogon lands upon the top of the steps behind the Lannisters, shaking the ground like an earthquake. Viserion and Rhaegal land atop the Red Keep itself, wrapping their wings around the spiraling towers. Everyone beneath them freezes in terror as Drogon opens his jaws and roars. Daenerys yells: "The Battle is ours! Drop your weapons and your lives will be spared! Continue to fight, and I will show you no mercy!"

The result was unanimous. Every Lannister, Tarly, and Gold Cloak let go of their weapons—and the sound of twenty thousand swords clattering down the stairs filled the air. "Bend the knee before your new Queen!" Tyrion yells at them, and they all do so. Dany's army roars with triumph, pumping their weapons up in the air. Theon grins and locks eyes with Yara, unable to believe it. "We won!" She cries, wrapping one arm around his shoulder and giving his head a good knuckling. Theon can't help but laugh and join in on the celebration.

Drogon suddenly turns his head to face the giant, metal doors to the Red Keep, growling. Daenerys and Tyrion both witness The Mountain himself quietly approaching them with his bloody greatsword held in both hands. "Stand down, Clegane!" Tyrion orders him, suspicious as to why Cersei had kept her strongest soldier hiding in the Red Keep throughout the fight. If the Mountain understood him, he gave no sign of it, continuing to stride toward the black dragon without fear. As he lifts up his sword, Drogon doesn't hesitate. His head jets forward and picks the Mountain up in his jaws, teeth sinking through the golden plate armor with a sickening _crunch!_ The greatsword goes flying as Drogon shakes the Mountain back and forth like a dog playing with its favorite toy before releasing the golden giant—his body soaring over the crowd of Lannisters before smashing into the side of a house down below the stairs.

"He should have listened." Dany smirks as Drogon turns his serpent-like eyes back on the doors to the Red Keep.

Beneath King's Landing, Jorah and his Unsullied are guided by the old Alchemist up a flight of stone stairs then down a long, winding tunnel lined with empty racks where the wildfire was once stored. A growing sense of unease filled the pit of his stomach—if he didn't hurry, they might be too late. "How much longer?" he asks the Alchemist with a growl.

"Almost there…" The alchemist murmurs nervously, opening an iron door for them to enter. "Right through here…"

The vast chamber they entered was a stark difference to the catacombs behind them. Its ceiling was shrouded in darkness making it hard to tell just how high it was, and the walls curved, giving the room a circular shape. In the center, stacked on top of each other, was a mountain of barrels leaking green fluid and forming a puddle around its base. There were hundreds of them stacked higher than he could see… Jorah turns to the Alchemist and grabs him around the throat with his cracked and pulsating hand. The old man whimpers, "P-P-Please d-d-don't kill me!"

"How many barrels are here?"

"F-Five hundred, Ser…"

 _Five hundred?! Gods…_ "Where are we right now?" Jorah asks.

"B-Beneath the Red Keep, Ser!"

"What?" Jorah blinks, releasing him slowly. "Why would Cersei stockpile all of the wildfire underneath her own castle?"

"I-I don't know, Ser! She doesn't tell me anything! All I know is the Hand of the Queen came to see me not long ago and had his little birds carry all of them here!"

Then he understood, and the dawning realization turned him sour… "It's a safeguard… a way of ensuring nobody ever takes the throne from her…" Jorah scans the surroundings of all the barrels, ordering the Unsullied to spread out and surround them. "We can't let anyone enter this room!" Jorah commands before rounding again on the alchemist. "How was she planning to ignite all of this? Someone would have to sacrifice their lives to—"

"I suspect more than one of those children were brainwashed…" The alchemist says with a nervous smile. "Perhaps one of them is hiding around here somewhere…?"

As the words leave the old man's lips, a door behind them opens with a rickety creak and a young boy enters holding a lit torch in his hands. Jorah immediately swoops down as the boy tries to run for the barrels—with his normal arm he catches the child by his midriff and with his other hand snatches the torch out of his grasp, holding it up out of reach. "Let me go!" The boy screams, "I have to do it! I have to!"

Jorah hears none of this. His left arm, the one pulsating red beneath the cracks that fissured their way up his skin, is all of the sudden burning with pain! Jorah gasps as the flames on the end of the torch grows three times its size, warming the hairs on his head. _What's going on?!_ Jorah throws the torch against the wall, but the pain doesn't stop. The cracks along his arm was spreading apart, billowing steam. The Unsullied rush over to help him as Jorah cries and drops to his knees, gripping his hand which is now burning with unbridled flames. The Alchemist backs away in horror. One of the Unsullied tries to help Jorah up—the flames around his arm act with a mind of their own—throwing the soldier through the air and into the wall. "Get away!" Jorah yells, as his arm trembles with power he can't control. The fire grows and grows, swirling around him and scorching the stone floors. _I have to get out of here! I have to—_

One of the flames releases the smallest of sparks that gently sways through the air, landing in the green goo around the base of the barrels…

The last thing Jorah sees is a rush of blinding, green light.

As Drogon prepares to blow down the door to the Red Keep, the ground beneath him explodes in a shower of stone and green fire. Daenerys and Tyrion cry out as they are enveloped in the flames, pushing Drogon up into the sky—and every one of the 20,000 soldiers standing on the stairs is incinerated in a matter of seconds—disappearing behind a wall of green flames. Theon, who was standing side by side with Yara, watches as his sister melts into a skeleton before his eyes as he is thrown backward through the air over the sea of soldiers behind him. Their screams are silenced as the wildfire spreads out like a budding rose, cascading down every road, turning every Ironborn, Unsullied, Dothraki, Tyrell, and Martell in its path into ash.

Tyrion's worst fears are realized as his hands slip from Dany's waist—he falls, watching as Drogon screams, spiraling through the sky half ablaze with wildfire _. I'm falling. I'm really falling!_ Tyrion tries to scream but his voice is gone—the city is rushing up to meet him. _I'm going to die!_ Tyrion closes his eyes, and sees Shae's face smiling at him…

He feels something yank on his tunic—jerking his body upward. Tyrion blinks, watching the buildings beneath him glide past his feet. He looks up and sees Rhaegal has caught him just barely—his shirt pinned between his teeth.

Meanwhile Drogon is screaming in agony unlike anything Dany had ever heard. His right wing is alight with green flames—melting his leather skin and hardened scales, as was his tail and one of his legs. The world spun wildly-King's Landing becoming a blur-and Dany can feel the intense heat from the wildfire brushing her skin, and is shocked to find the for the first time in her life, fire could harm her. "Drogon!" She cries as the black dragon spirals out of control into the side of a building, smashing it to smithereens. A piece of rubble knocks Dany upside the forehead as her and Drogon disappear amidst smoke and flames.

Inside the throne room, the explosion had rocked Cersei and Arya off balance just as Widow's Wale was about to deliver the killing blow. The ground behind them near the door disappeared behind the plume of green flames that had erupted from underground. Half of the pillars holding up the elegant roof were crumbling and giving way. Beams of burning wood came crashing down to the floor all around her as Arya struggled to her feet, feeling warmth brush her back. Cersei is getting back up as well, having been thrown back near the steps to her throne and landing in Dickon's brain juice. Green fire swirled all around them, overtaking the walls and ceiling, illuminating the crumbling throne room in a bright, green aura. _There's no escaping this._ Arya faces Cersei, who is grinning at her from across the rubble. "It's over, Arya!" She taunts, "We'll both die in here! None of it matters now!"

"It matters!" Arya roars, sprinting toward her with Needle in her remaining hand. She leaps over the burning pile of rocks and lands before the Mad Queen and her throne, thrusting her skinny blade with all her might up at her face. Cersei laughs as she deflects it with Widow's Wale—but Arya doesn't stop running, colliding with the Queen head on—sinking her teeth into her neck and biting a chunk of her jugular. The shriek of agony was music to her ears—Cersei slams the hilt of her sword down over Arya's head and forces her to let go. Arya whirls around and shoves Needle through the calf of her leg, squirting blood across the stairs. Cersei falls, but as she does, Widow's Wale sinks itself into Arya's right shoulder blade, becoming lodged in her bones. The two of them fall together on top of each other, wrestling up the stairs—biting, scratching, and kicking each other—their swords forgotten. Arya gets on top of Cersei and plunges her only thumb into Cersei's left eye, popping it like a berry. Cersei throws Arya off of her, and the young girl grunts as she collides with the base of the Iron Throne.

The Mad Queen, Cersei Lannister, slowly rises, her neck and eye pouring blood down her dress. She reaches out, her scabbed and bleeding claws closing around Arya's throat to suffocate the life from her. Arya can't breathe. She's pinned against the sharp Iron Throne, kicking and fighting—but Cersei has her. Needle is at the bottom of the stairs… "When you see your father again, tell him Cersei Lannister sends her regards!" Cersei breathes in her face as Arya's vision begins to darken…

Arya relaxes, becoming No One. No One reaches up and removes Widow's Wale from her shoulder, pulling it out by the blade, slicing open her fingers. Cersei sees what she's doing and smacks the sword out of her grasp—but in doing so—is forced to let go of No One's neck with one of her hands—giving No One the opportunity she needed to thrust her forehead forward into Cersei's face, breaking her nose against her skull. Cersei roars, releasing No One and falling backward—tripping down the stairs. No One reaches for Widow's Wale once more and leaps through the air!

The wildfire had sent a green mushroom-cloud up high into the air—and the Red Keep was completely consumed in it. Every tower crumbled—smashing down into the Blackwater Bay. The flames spread as though spurred by magic, catching everything in the castle's vicinity. Tyrion watched it all from Rhaegal's clenched jaws, scanning the destruction in disbelief. _How could this happen… All of those people… wiped out in the blink of an eye…_

"Rhaegal!" Tyrion cries in a strained voice, "Find your mother!" He points down to where he'd seen Drogon crash. The green dragon obeys Tyrion's command, as does Viserion, who is flying close by. The two descend upon the crash site and Tyrion is lowered to his feet. Thousands of people were running down the streets away from the growing wildfire, but not Tyrion. He climbs the rubble, tossing rocks away. Drogon is there—half of his body burned to bone. The wildfire had stopped burning from all the dirt and dust. Drogon's breathing is rapid, and as Tyrion climbs closer to his head, the dragon's eye opens half-way and stares up at the Dwarf with a single tear trailing down his cheek. Tyrion's heart plummets, stroking the dragon's tear away and whispering, "You'll be alright, just hang on, Drogon!"

Viserion and Rhaegal were crying as well, prodding at Drogon's body with their snouts. _I can't find her! Please don't be dead! Don't be dead!_ Tyrion begins to throws rocks out of his way, digging through the debris until his fingers bled. Drogon manages to lift his wing—and curled up inside was Daenerys like a child. Whether she was dead or unconscious, Tyrion couldn't tell at first. He rushes to her and lifts up her wrist gently... _There's a pulse!_ Tyrion grins with relief, wiping the tears out of his eyes. "Daenerys! Wake up! Dany, please! You have to wake up now!" He lightly smacks her cheek until Dany's eyes flutter open.

"What… what happened?" She mutters groggily, sitting up.

"Wildfire." Tyrion grimaces. _Jorah failed. We took our victory for granted. I assumed he'd completed the task… But Cersei was more desperate than even I expected._ He glares up at the Red Keep, burning with green flames in the distance. "She destroyed her castle just to see us fail… she must still be in there, burning with the rest of them…"

"Drogon!" Dany yells, rushing to her dragon's face and kneeling down in the rubble beside him. Drogon utters a weak whimper, his eyes slowly shutting… Daenerys goes pale as silent tears stain her dirt-smeared cheeks.

Tyrion approaches her and places a hand on her shoulder… "He's gone… Dany, I'm so sorry…"

"No… He can't be…" Dany's lip trembles. "Not my Drogon…"

Viserion and Rhaegal turn their heads upward and their scream pierces the sky. Both dragons outstretch their wings and before Dany or Tyrion can do anything—they both take flight, soaring high over the destruction of King's Landing. They turn their sights upon the remaining survivors fleeing in the streets—and release their anguish and pain upon them, burning everyone alive with red and orange flames. It didn't matter who it was, the dragons showed no discrimination. Men, women, children, soldiers, peasants—all pointed to the sky in terror as the dragons flew over them, breathing fire. Daenerys hardly seemed to notice, bent over Drogon she wept… and Tyrion could only stand by helplessly, watching the chaos unfold before his eyes…

"Daenerys… you have to pull yourself together!" Tyrion says to her, "Your dragons—they're killing everyone! You're the only one who can stop them!"

Daenerys sniffs, brushing her eyes with her wrist. Tyrion helps her stand, but she has trouble taking her hands away from Drogon's scales. Eventually she does, Viserion and Rhaegal's tortured howls bringing back a determined, grim look on her face. They climb out of the ruined house they crashed through and onto the street—full of burning bodies. Dany looked up to the skies and shouts: "Rhaegal! Viserion! To me!"

The two dragons hear her call and together land on either side of their mother—screaming in her face. Tyrion winces in fear, afraid they'd forgotten all about him—but Dany simply walks up to them and caresses each of their jaws, whispering, "It's alright, my darlings… I'm still here…"

They climb aboard Rhaegal and the two dragons fly to the Red Keep again, watching as it is overcome and crumbles. "We can't stay here. It's over, Dany… The Iron Throne is lost…"

"No…" Dany growls, "It's not over until I see the Mad Queen dead with my own eyes."

They soar toward the wildfire and both Viserion and Rhaegal stop in mid-air, flapping their massive wings—blowing powerful gusts of wind at the fire blocking the doors to the throne room. The wildfire disperses under the pressure—and the doors crumbled, giving way to the giant room within. "We can't go in there! It's too dangerous!" Tyrion protests, but this time Dany doesn't heed her Hand's advice. Rhaegal and Viserion crash through the ruined castle and land inside the throne room, surrounded in green flames.

To both Dany and Tyrion's surprise, a high pitched laughter reached their ears upon entering. Up ahead, the iron throne is one of the only things untouched by the destruction—pillars of wildfire swirling around it. Sitting casually on the throne was a young girl, her head tilted back laughing with mad delight—tears streaming down her blood-smeared face. One of her hands was gone, replaced with a gushing, red stump. In the other, suspended by Arya's grasp, was the disembodied head of Cersei Lannister.

Rhaegar

The final tilt was about to commence. The audience was captured in hushed anticipation. An astute observer might notice that Rhaegar Targaryen was acting strange. He climbed his white stallion with hesitation and equipped himself with shield and lance. His opponent, Barristan Selmy, was enamored in white plating from across the line of dirt, patiently waiting for Rhaegar to approach the runway. _Maybe I should just give up now and forget about all this_ , Rhaegar ponders. _I could go to Summerhall and write a song and just forget about Bran Stark… Put all of this behind me._

If the ghost from the future had been real, and his prediction was true, then Rhaegar would defeat Barristan and be declared the victor. So far he had successfully unhorsed every knight that dueled him with increasing unease. Rhaegar was good—but he hardly considered himself the greatest jouster in all of Westeros. Barristan by far was better at this and deserved to win. There was no way Rhaegar could unhorse an experienced warrior like him…

The bell rang, signaling them to start—Rhaegar and Barristan spur their horses, their lances pointed at each other's shields. Fifty feet away—then forty— _I can still stop this, I can still give up_ —thirty feet away and not one person in the stadium so much as breathed—twenty feet— _He's going to unhorse me. I could lift my lance and miss on purpose_ —ten feet away and Rhaegar can see Barristan's eyes beneath his helm—

Both shields explode as their lances smash through them—but only one connects with the rider and knocks him off his horse. The audience releases their pent up excitement with a cacophony of applause and cheers. Aerys Targaryen rises from his seat and shouts: "The victory goes to _my_ son, Rhaegar!"

_Unbelievable…_

Rhaegar spins his stallion about-face and jumps off his saddle, rushing over to help Barristan up. "Thank you, My Lord." Barristan says gratefully, "Well struck!"

"You should have won… " Rhaegar tells him, unable to hide the troubled tone in his voice. Even behind his helm, Rhaegar can see the concern in the old man's eyes, but before Barristan can speak a word of it, a man in crimson and gold robes descends from a podium in the stands carrying a crown of blue winter roses... He hands it to Rhaegar, simultaneously informing all in the audience that Rhaegar shall now crown a woman in the audience and declare them the Queen of love and beauty…

 _It's all going just as he told me… This… Why does this feel so wrong?_ Rhaegar frowns down at the crown in his grasp. It was light as a feather, its bright blue petals glistening in the sunlight. The only place in the world these flowers grew were in Winterfell, home of the Starks… _He told me to give it to Lyanna Stark… a girl I hardly know… A girl engaged to another. I myself am married to a woman I love… We have two children… Everyone is expecting me to give this to my Elia… If I don't…_

Rhaegar looks up into the crowd and notices his father glaring down at him with his usual scowl. Rhaegar had little love for the man left in his heart. When he'd brought his children to court to introduce them to Aerys, the King only gave them the briefest of glances before dismissing them, saying: "They smell Dornish!" Their relationship had been strained enough already, but since that day Rhaegar resented his father with a secret passion. _Even he expects me to hand this crown to my wife—he can't wait for me to do it so he can go and be by himself again, away from all these potential threats, as he sees it…_

As fate would have it, Elia was sitting with their two children near the front of the stands. Rhaegar walked toward her slowly, his mind a whirl of uncertainty. Beside his family were none other than the Starks and Baratheons. Lord Rickard sat with Lord Steffon while their children sat side-by-side watching Rhaegar. Lyanna was sitting in between Elia and Robert, who was perhaps the only one in the stadium ignoring Rhaegar and just staring at Lyanna with a love-struck smile.

_The fate of the world depends on this… That's what Bran Stark, whoever he is, told me… Was he even real? How could he be? He said he was from the future, but how can I believe that? It's ridiculous… If I told anyone, they'd call me mad… if I am, then perhaps what they say about Targaryens behind our backs is true—eventually, we all go insane… So many questions, no answers…_

Rhaegar removes his helm and shakes out his flowing, silver hair. He approaches Elia, who smiles at him, leaning her head forward in expectation…

_Do you believe in fate?_

He'd asked Lyanna this in the forest… just before Bran appeared…

_Fate…_

The smiles in the audience unanimously die as Rhaegar turns away from his wife and lays the crown of winter roses in the lap of Lyanna Stark. Rhaegar ignores them all, looking directly up into Lyanna's eyes. The young girl blushes the brightest shade of red possible, unable to prevent the wide grin that stretched across her face. Hers was the only reaction like this. An uproar of shock hissed throughout the stadium.

Robert Baratheon was suddenly on his feet—his face quite possibly just as red as his betrothed. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!" He bellows, spit flying from his lips. Lord Steffon Baratheon stands and grabs his son's shoulders to calm him, but Robert swats him away. "This is an OUTRAGE! Give the crown to your own damn wife!"

Rhaegar turns and walks away, his heart hammering in his ears. _What did I just do?_ As he leaves, Robert's screams follow him out—loud and booming over the rest of the audience. He descends the trail to the encampments outside Harrenhal, making his way to his tent to be alone and contemplate on his decision…

As he enters his tent, Rhaegar immediately goes to his golden harp and takes a seat on his bed with it. He crosses a leg over a knee and rests the harp in his lap, gently plucking its silver strings with his head bowed low and his eyes closed, absorbing its peaceful melody…

When someone touched his hand, Rhaegar is half-surprised, having not heard anyone enter his tent—and finds himself face-to-face once more with the young boy with shaggy, brown hair. This time Rhaegar doesn't jump or try to fight him off, he simply stares at him.

"Thank you for listening to me." Bran tells him with a smile. "Sorry if I scared you…"

"It's alright." Rhaegar says, eyeing the tent's entrance to make sure no one was standing outside. "I had a feeling you might pop up again…"

"For a second I thought you were going to give the roses to your wife."

"So did I." Rhaegar sighs, plucking at his strings while Bran's hand remains clasped over his.

"You haven't forgotten the rest I told you, right?"

"It's not every day a boy from the future appears out of thin air and tells me my son will be the one to save the world." Rhaegar smiles.

"I suppose so… Do you know what you're going to do next?"

"You said I had to… abduct or convince Lyanna to come away with me…" Rhaegar frowns. "That doesn't seem like a very honorable thing to do, to be honest."

"It's not if you abduct her." Bran agrees, "That's why you have to convince her it's the right thing to do."

"Why don't you do it?" Rhaegar asks curiously.

"I can't risk that. I've already risked everything telling you all this."

Rhaegar frowns, gently strumming his harp. "She'll think I'm mad if I tell her everything you told me. Half of me is convinced I am going mad like my father."

"Then why did you listen to me?" Bran asks.

"Because I believe in fate." Rhaegar answers, "And if you are real and telling me the truth, then the prophecy about the prince that was promised is true. I always thought my son, Aegon, was the one the Old Ghost always spoke about…"

"The Old Ghost?" Bran appears confused, and Rhaegar can't help but chuckle at the irony of that.

"The Ghost of High Heart they call her. She's an elderly woman living in the Riverlands. She was there the day I was born in Summerhall. They say she's a witch, but I've met the woman and she's no witch… but her prophecy… it's always stayed with me ever since I went to see her. I wanted to learn more about what caused the tragedy at Summerhall, but all she gave me was a prophecy about "The Prince that was Promised." In it, she described a young dragon leading the fight against an ancient enemy…"

"The White Walkers." Bran whispers.

Rhaegar glares at him. "Is it true?"

"They're real. I've seen them." Bran says before he can catch himself. "I'm not sure how much I should tell you…"

"I understand…" Rhaegar says, "Though I can't help but be curious… if you're from the future, then tell me… am I alive in your time?"

"No…" Bran says after some hesitation.

"How do I die?"

"I don't think I should tell you that. I can't risk changing anything that's already happened."

"Yet you risked everything to get me this far?"

"No. This always happens." Bran sighs and takes a seat on the bed beside him. "It's hard to explain… I knew though that if I didn't tell you, you never would've given Lyanna the crown, right?"

Rhaegar considers this question for a while, plucking at his harp. "No… I wouldn't have. I'd have given it to Elia…"

"Then I'm right. Everything I've done is what always happens… Picture a history book. In it is your life written in ink… In my time, that history book says you give the crown to Lyanna and a short time after steal her away and…"

"And what?"

"And rape her…" Bran gives him a grim look.

"Well… that's not going to happen." Rhaegar says flatly.

"Which is why you have to convince her to go with you. No matter what. If she refuses…"

"Then that's that and I leave her alone. I won't rape her, no matter what a Stark from the future tells me."

"The fate of the world depends on you having a child with her." Bran says, looking scared for the first time since he had appeared before him.

"So you say… I'm sorry, but I can't do that. If raping Lyanna Stark is the reason the future is saved then maybe the future doesn't deserve saving."

"But…"

"If you want to make sure this works, then come with me. Help me convince her. Show yourself to her like you have me, and together we might succeed…" Rhaegar says, "If I go alone, and I try to tell her all of this, it won't work. You know this as well as I do."

It was Bran's turn to look down deep in thought and consider Rhaegar's proposal. Finally he says, "Alright… But I can't say too much. If we screw this up…"

"First, you have to tell me one thing." Rhaegar says, setting down his harp and looking Bran in the eye. "How are you able to travel back in time like this?"

"That would take a while to explain… How about I tell you what I can _after_ we speak with Lyanna?"

"Fair enough. When shall we go?"

"I'm not sure…" Bran admits, "None of the history books say when exactly you abduct Lyanna… only that it happens a short time after this tourney…"

"Fate has guided me this far. If this is what always happens, then whichever day I choose will be the day that is always chosen. Correct?"

"I guess so, yeah." Bran shrugs, making Rhaegar chuckle again. _He really is just a boy._

"If we do this, and Lyanna agrees… The world will not accept this. Neither my father, not her future husband are going to sit back and allow me to bear a child with her; not to mention the Martells, who are undoubtedly furious with me already. It could start a war…" Rhaegar watches Bran's expression carefully… "You already know whether or not it does, but you can't tell me, can you?"

"Sorry." Bran grimaces.

"I suppose one war against the annihilation of all life as we know it isn't much of a debate." Rhaegar stands up, and Bran stands with him, their hands linked. "I'll go to her tomorrow, after I've made peace with Elia and my children… Don't worry, I won't say a word of this to anyone. I can't just abandon my family without saying goodbye though…"

"What will you tell them?"

"That I love them and will cherish them for the rest of my days." Rhaegar says, and he means it. "Will you be around me this whole time or…?"

"No, but I'll find you tomorrow when you're ready." Bran says, "In the meantime, I'll just—"

* * *

Bran

"—Find something else to…" Bran blinks and Rhaegar disappears, as does the tent and all that resided within it. Bran is warped into a familiar forest surrounding a hill outside Harrenhal. A single tree sways in the breeze atop this hill as the sun sets over the black towers in the distance. "Rhaegar?" Bran whirls around but the Targaryen prince is nowhere to be seen. _Why am I here? When in time is this?!_

Bran climbs to the top of the hill where he hears harsh sobbing noises coming from behind the tree. As he gets closer, Bran spots all the tents lined up outside Harrenhal's castle, and warm relief washes over him. _It's still the same day…_ He rounds the corner of the tree and finds Howland Reed crunched up on the grassy floor, his face in his arms, hugging his shoulders and shaking with uncontrollable tears.

"Who's there?" Says a voice behind Bran, making him jump in his skin. He wheels around and sees another small boy approaching Howland. _What's Petyr Baelish doing out here?_

Howland looks up, his face shining red. Petyr smiles as he stops short of him. "Ah, you're the Stark girl's… cousin."

"No, I'm not." Howland mutters angrily. "I'm Howland Reed, a lowly, unimportant, piece of shit Crannogman."

"With a title like that, I can hardly blame you for disguising yourself." Petyr jests, leaning against the tree under its shadow, both hands crossed behind his back. "Though I admit I found it suspicious. The Stark's cousins bear no resemblance to you."

"Leave me alone." Howland growls.

"My apologies… I heard a little girl crying and thought I might be of some assistance." Bran thought Howland might hit Petyr then, but the Crannogman only continues to weep, gazing down into the grass. Petyr slowly kneels beside him and says, "I could also be a friend."

"I don't need friends. I don't deserve friends." Howland mutters, wiping snot from his nose onto wrist. Petyr narrows his eyes and places a hand on Howland's shoulder.

"Friends can prove to be useful. Therapeutic even. Why don't you tell me what's got you crying out here on a hill?"

Bran had a strange feeling he'd seen this before somewhere…

"You saw what happened in there!" Howland cries, "Rhaegar Targaryen, the son of the king, gave Lyanna the crown of winter roses… And she _smiled_!"

"Ah…" Petyr sighs, "I see now… You're in love with Lyanna Stark."

"Wh-What?!" Howland stammers, "N-No! No, I'm not in love…"

"There's no need to hide your affections from me, Reed. I know exactly what it's like to love someone you can't have… Trust me on that. In my opinion, though, your talents are wasted up here."

"It's not like that… she's already engaged to Robert Baratheon…"

"The oaf from Storm's End who takes whores from brothels every night, drinks himself to sleep, and hunts boar to compensate for his lack of intelligence? Please… You and I and the rest of the realm all know there would be no true love between her and a man like that. _You_ on the other hand…"

"Stop… I'm just a low-born frog-eater…"

"Yet she fought for your honor in the jousts, did she not?"

Howland gapes at him. "How did you know?"

"I have many friends in many places... I'd like to think that you and I could be friends as well, Reed. My name's Petyr. Petyr Baelish." He reaches out to shake Howland's hand. Howland obliges, still in awe at him.

"She would never go for a man like me…"

"Don't be so sure about that. Not often does a women get up in arms to defend the honor of a man she doesn't care about." Petyr smirks. "Have you informed Lyanna of your feelings?"

"No… no way… I could never…"

"You should. Happiness could be a simple question away and you'd never know it…"

"Is that what you did?" Howland asks, "Tell the girl you loved how you felt?"

"Aye." Petyr lifts up his shirt, revealing a long, narrow scar traveling from his belly to his collar-bone. "A gift from her betrothed. Sometimes a question can lead to near death as well… But what's life without gambling? Without risk, there is no reward, my friend… I do not regret what I did, for doing nothing would've been the greatest sin of all. This scar serves as a reminder of that."

"I was going to say something…" Howland admits coyly, "I was… Or at least, I was thinking about it… but then… then that damned _Targaryen_ had to ruin _everything_!"

"What has he ruined? Did he steal her away or take her to his bedchamber? No. He gave her some flowers and everyone lost their minds because it wasn't what was _expected_ of him. I admire the man for that, at least. So should you. It should inspire you to get up off your ass and do something about it or else someone like Rhaegar or Robert will do it for you."

"You're right…" Howland says, and Petyr helps him to his feet. "I'm going to tell her… I'm going to tell her… Thank you, Petyr Baelish…"

"Please, call me Petyr."

Bran can't believe it. _Howland loved Lyanna this whole time? If that's true then he must not have met his future wife yet… I wonder if Meera or Jojen ever knew about this…_

Once again, the world around him dissolves before Bran is prepared and he is taken far away from Harrenhal. A massive inn was before him now. It was raining heavily, pooling the crossroads with mud. Bran couldn't feel it. The rain passed through him as though he was made of mist. _Now where am I? Why am I here? Most importantly… when is this?_

About a hundred horses are in the stables being handled by a heavy-set horse master. The banner of House Stark hung over several of their saddles. Bran enters the inn, searching for his family. The ceiling groaned overhead. No one save a few Stark guards were in here, drinking and chatting under their breaths. Everyone else must be asleep upstairs…

So Bran crept upstairs, passing through doors like a ghost. He founds Rickard Stark sleeping alone in one room. Then he found Eddard, Brandon, and Benjen all snoring loudly in another. _Lyanna must be here…_ As Bran debates entering the next room, he hears the doors to the inn down below clang open. Bran goes back to see who was there, and finds none other than Rhaegar Targaryen. He is alone, wearing a black traveling cloak with its hood pulled up to hide his face in shadow—but Bran recognized him at once. The Stark guards, on the other hands, were drunk and paid the stranger no mind. Rhaegar asks for a room from the innkeeper and is given the keys to one. As he ascends the staircase, Bran reaches out and touches his hand.

Rhaegar's eyes flicker to him at once, but he doesn't smile. He waits until they are out of earshot from downstairs before addressing him. "If you didn't show up soon I was going to turn around."

"Sorry. I'm here." Bran says, "It's so weird, it feels like I was just talking to you a few minutes ago."

"Really? That was two days ago…"

"Are you ready to do this?"

"No. But I'm here. Had to trail behind them for a while so they wouldn't see me coming… They wouldn't stop traveling, even in the night. You Starks don't tire easily."

"She should be alone in one of these rooms…" Bran says, leading him by the hand over to the door he had stopped at before. "I'll peek in and make sure it's the right one."

"How are you going to do—?" Rhaegar stops short when Bran sticks his head directly through the door as though it were a veil. The room was almost as dark as the night sky. The bed wasn't empty… After his eyes adjusted to the shadows, Bran could make out two lumps lying under the covers… _Oh no…_ Lying in bed with Lyanna was Howland Reed. Both of them were wrapped in each other's arms, sleeping peacefully…

When Bran pulls back, he gives Rhaegar a disparaging look. "What's wrong?" Rhaegar asks, alarmed.

"She's not alone…" Bran mutters.

"Is Robert with her? No… That's not possible, he wasn't traveling with them…"

"No… not Robert."

"Oh… I see…" Rhaegar sighs. "Maybe this was a mistake… I must be insane to go this far… How do I know you're even real?"

"You really want to second-guess me now?" Bran asks angrily, "Look, this is just a… a minor set-back. We can't stop. We have to do this…"

"What about the man she's with?"

"Tie him up… Gag him so he doesn't make any noise…" Bran suggests, feeling sick.

"The more you talk the more convinced I am that I'm losing my mind." Rhaegar shakes his head.

"We don't have many options here. This is the only chance we have! Once she's back in Winterfell there's no way you'll be able to get her to leave without anyone noticing. Rhaegar… You have to trust me. I've been right about everything else. What happens next is what always happens, understand? If you believe in fate like you say you do, then—"

"Alright, alright." Rhaegar glances nervously over his shoulder. He takes off his cloak and tears the hood from it, tying it up in a tight ball. "I suppose you won't be able to help me tie him up, will you…"

"No, but I can keep Lyanna from going crazy and alerting everyone else while you do…" Bran says. _Hopefully._

"I won't see you once you let go…" Rhaegar says, though it sounds like a question.

Bran nods. "Once you're done, I'll grab your hand again so you and Lyanna can both see me."

"And the man with her won't?"

"No… He won't hear me either. Just the two of you…"

"Alright…" Rhaegar takes a deep breath, his hand around the doorknob. "I'm ready…"

The door is locked. Rhaegar frowns and looks to Bran who only shrugs. "Don't look at me, I can't open it."

"You can touch me though, why can't you touch the door?"

"I don't know. It doesn't work that way…"

"Well… I can't open it either." Rhaegar sighs, scratching his head. "Perhaps this is fate telling us not to do this."

"No." Bran growls, "We've come too far. If you don't go in there…"

"I know, I know…"

"Then force it open."

"It will wake them up."

"Well that's the plan, right?"

"This is folly." Rhaegar grumbles. "If everyone hears then I won't be able to—"

There's a click from behind the door before it suddenly opens on its own. Howland Reed is standing before them half-naked save for briefs, groggily rubbing his eyes as he comes face to face with Rhaegar Targaryen. There's an awkward silence as the two stare at one another and Bran almost forgets that he can't be seen by Howland.

The Crannogman opens his mouth—and Rhaegar grabs him! He shoves the rolled up bundle of his hood into Howland's open lips—blocking a muffled cry from the young man's throat. Bran is released from the white haired prince as Rhaegar forces Howland backward into the room and onto the floor with a dull _thud!_ "I'm sorry." Rhaegar whispers, rolling Howland over and hog-tying his cloak around his wrists and ankles. Howland's terrified screams are louder than Bran anticipated. Frightened, bound, and pinned to the ground, Howland Reed begins to sob for his life. In the bed behind them, Lyanna rolls over in her sleep, frowning as though from a nightmare. Bran rushes to her bedside, but doesn't touch her. Instead he watches as Rhaegar drags Howland into the closet and tenderly closes the doors, locking him within the darkness. His muffled cries for help could still be heard, just barely, but it wasn't enough to wake Lyanna.

 _I guess she's a deep sleeper._ Bran eyes Rhaegar who closes and locks the bedroom door before joining him at the end of the bed, panting. He takes Rhaegar's hand in his. "You can do this, Rhaegar…"

Rhaegar had never looked more insecure than he did right now. Bran could tell he was considering leaving this all behind and forgetting it… So he was thankful when Rhaegar reached over and gave Lyanna a gentle shake.

* * *

Lyanna

She was sprinting through a field of snow, the taste of blood on her tongue. A rabbit was hopping as fast as it could—but not fast enough to escape her mighty jaws. She pins the animal into the mud and tears off its head with a sickening crackle. The bones crunch like rocks against her teeth. Lyanna savors the taste, relishing in its salty warmth. She bows her head to finish eating the rabbit's carcass when something shakes her from her dream.

"Quit it, Howland." She mutters but the hand on her shoulder doesn't let up. Grumbling in annoyance, Lyanna opens her eyes and rolls over, expecting Howland Reed to be lying beside her. Instead it was Rhaegar Targaryen leaning over her, wide-eyed and terrified.

Instinct lifts Lyanna's fist up—colliding with the underside of Rhaegar's jaw. The white haired prince stumbles backward, grunting in pain. Lyanna whirls about on the bedsheets, about to scream—

"Wait! Wait!" Rhaegar urges, reaching out and shoving his hand over her lips. So she bites down hard on his fingers, forcing a howl out of him.

"What in the seven hells are you doing in my room!" Lyanna yells. That's when she hears the muffled cries from her closet. "Howland! Is that you?"

Rhaegar shoves her down, pinning her to her pillows. She was naked and exposed, yet Rhaegar's eyes refused to travel past Lyanna's face. "You have to be quiet!" He hisses, "Please! Just hear me out!"

Lyanna growls. "Give me one bloody reason why I shouldn't call for my father!"

Appearing beside Rhaegar while touching Lyanna's hand, a young boy abruptly pops into existence before her eyes. Her mouth drops. "Please tell me you can see him?" Rhaegar asks, sounding painfully desperate.

"You mean the little boy grabbing my hand?" Lyanna snarls, jerking her hand away. The boy disappears as quickly as he appeared—so quick in fact she was convinced he was never there at all. Then the boy takes her hand again, more forcefully this time.

"I'm sorry to do this, Lyanna, but you'll understand in a minute…" The boy says to her.

"You'll have to show me that trick kid—you guys mind backing the fuck off for a minute so I can at least cover my tits?"

"You won't scream?"

"Not if you let go."

Rhaegar releases her slowly and backs away, sitting down on the end of her bed, his face slick with sweat. He eyes the bedroom door, waiting to see if anyone was coming… after a few moments of silence, he turns his attention back on Lyanna (who has covered herself under her sheets). "How do I even start?" He asks, eyeing the strange vanishing boy for direction.

"How about you tell me why you locked Howland in the closet?"

"I didn't want to…" Rhaegar mumbles, "We didn't expect him to be here."

 _But you expected me here?_ "This is really weird, Rhaegar… "

"Lyanna, listen to the kid for a minute, alright? He has something to say…"

The boy glared at Rhaegar before sighing. "Lyanna, my name is Brandon Stark."

 _Now I know this is a joke._ "Uh… you're not my older brother, nice try."

"Obviously." Bran smiles. "This is going to sound insane… But I'm from the future."

If not for Howland's anguished moans from the closet, Lyanna might have laughed out loud at this. Yet the serious, stern expressions on both of their faces told her this was no jest. "What the fuck are you on about?"

"I'm your brother's son!" Bran says impatiently, "I—I don't know how to explain all of this to you exactly, but you must believe me. I wouldn't be here doing this if it wasn't important. Neither would Rhaegar."

Lyanna raises her eyebrow at the Targaryen Prince. "You believe this kid?"

"I didn't truly until now." Rhaegar admits, "But you can see him too."

Lyanna glares at Bran this time. "Do that thing again."

"What?"

"Go invisible! I want to see it again—well, not _see it_ , you know what I mean!"

Bran rolls his eyes and lets go of her hand. Just like that he vanishes… a second later he reappears, holding her hand again.

_Whoa…_

"Alright, you have my attention. But I'm letting Howland out of the cupboard."

"I'm afraid I cannot allow that." Rhaegar says sadly.

Lyanna stands from her bed. "You going to stop me?"

"He's already seen and heard too much." Rhaegar says, "Come with us to my room. We can speak privately there. I promise you, on my honor as a Targaryen, that is all we will do."

Lyanna scoffs. "Fine. I'll admit this drama has got me curious…" She turns to the cupboard where Howland's moans have stopped to listen to them. "I'll be right back, Howland." She calls, moving to her nightstand to dress herself in a grey, silk gown. She follows Rhaegar and the boy, who is holding both of their hands, connecting them. Rhaegar's room was at the very end of the hall.

Once inside, they each take a seat across from each other, Bran in the middle, on Rhaegar's bed. Lyanna wanted to see the vanishing trick again, but instead Bran told her about the future. Lyanna listened in silence as she learned about why they were here. Rhaegar was quiet as well, his purple gaze lingering on Lyanna's face as Bran explained how the two of them were meant to run away together and create a child.

"What's his name?" Lyanna asks.

"I can't tell you that." Bran says.

"Why not?"

"Because we might change it if we know." Rhaegar says, smirking.

"So… if we're supposed to run away together… then, at the tourney, when you gave me the crown of winter roses…"

"Yes." Rhaegar nods.

 _And here I thought he just found me to be the most beautiful woman in the world._ "You really believe all of this, Rhaegar?"

Rhaegar glances at Bran before answering, "I believe he isn't lying. Everything he's predicted has come true so far. It would foolish of me to ignore this warning when it could potentially save the world."

Lyanna barks with laughter, unable to stifle it any longer. Tears stung her eyes as she slowly stands up, but Bran doesn't let go of her hand. "I'm sorry but this is just stupid. You seriously expect me to believe that I'm supposed to have a child with you?! A child that somehow is supposed to save the world from _White Walkers_ in the future?! This is desperate, Rhaegar. If you wanted into my pants this badly you missed your chance back at Harrenhal."

Bran throws caution to the wind and says, "Your son's name will be Jon Snow. He will grow up a bastard in Winterfell, and the world will believe he is the illegitimate son of your brother—my father—Eddard Stark. He will join the Night's Watch and become Lord Commander, defending The Wall from wildlings and the White Walkers. Eventually he will grow up to be the King of the North… and both of you will die before any of this, never knowing your son."

"If that's supposed to convince me…"

"You'll die in child birth. Eddard will be there with you." Bran continues grimly, never taking her eyes off her. "He'll take care of Jon and raise him as his own. To me, Jon is my older brother, when in reality, he is my cousin…"

"You're… you're Ned's son?" For the first time Lyanna appeared to believe him. "You do bear a resemblance…"

"I'm sorry, I wish I didn't have to tell you this but I don't know how else to convince you." Bran sighs. "The world will think Rhaegar abducted you and took you away to the south. They'll think he raped you until you bled to death. Only my father will know the truth…"

"So you're asking us to die…" Lyanna glares at Rhaegar. "Did you know this?"

"I suspected as much…" Rhaegar answers. "But if our sacrifices would save the world, then I'm more than willing to give up my life. If you're not able to do that then… I guess we wasted our time here. We're not going to force you to do this, Lyanna. It's your choice."

"What about all that fate crap you were spewing on about?" Lyanna smirks. "If this is what always happens, then you should already know what I'm going to say…"

"I was wrong about fate. We all have to make choices and those choices dictate how fate works. I could've lost the joust on purpose, I could've quit, I could've walked away and pretended Bran Stark never appeared before me, I could've given the crown to my wife like everyone expected… But I didn't. I made those choices, and as fate would have it, I'm now sitting beside you. Whatever you decide will be what you always decide—for better or for worse, the decision rests on you now and you alone. I don't expect you to love me, but if you come away with me, then you must be prepared to sacrifice your life for the greater good…"

Against her will, Lyanna started to cry silent tears. She looks to Bran and says, "Can you tell me more about him? My son? What's he like? What color is his hair? Is he funny? Is he a great fighter? Does he ever fall in love?"

"I'm sorry but I can't tell you anything else unless you agree." Bran says.

Lyanna sniffs, wiping her eyes. Rhaegar hands her a clean, dry cloth from his pocket and she thanks him, cleaning her face off with it. "This is just so… I can't believe this is happening… How do I know you're really from the future and not just performing a magic trick?"

Bran chuckles at that. "I can't really prove I'm from the future. All I can tell you is what I know and what you need to know in order for my future to exist. If you don't do this, Jon never exists… everything changes… I myself might never be born. I could disappear in the blink of an eye for all I know… The future as I know it rests entirely on what you do, aunty." The last word slipped out of him before he could catch it.

"I suppose if you're telling the truth then I really am your aunt, huh…" Lyanna smiles, new tears welling up in her eyes. She leans forward and touches Bran's cheek, but her fingers passes through him as though he were made of smoke. "Amazing… How are you able to come back in time like this?"

"The short answer is I learned how from an old man beyond The Wall. The Children of the Forest called him the Three-Eyed Raven… He died at the hands of the Night King, and now I'm the Three-Eyed Raven."

_He isn't lying… Neither is Rhaegar… They really do believe what they're telling me…_

"Can I at least say goodbye to my brothers?" Lyanna asks weakly.

"No…" Bran appears apologetic as he says this, "They must believe you were abducted in the night. Everyone must. Are you saying… you'll do this?"

"Maybe." Lyanna looks at Rhaegar, studying his face. He truly was beautiful, and she'd be lying if she said she hadn't fantasized about him after he gave her the crown of winter roses. But to sleep with him… _Having the baby was always the last thing I ever wanted…_

Rhaegar reaches out with the hand that wasn't attached to Bran's and takes Lyanna's fingers in his grasp. He smiles, and she sees that he's crying as well. "I had to say goodbye to my wife and two children yesterday. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I couldn't tell them where I was going or why. I could only clutch them in my arms and promise them that I loved them. Elia didn't cry, but I did. She was always stronger than me." He sniffs, "I would never ask you to do what I did. If what Bran says is true, then you'll be able to see your brother Ned one last time before the end…"

"Where would we go?" Lyanna asks, surprised to find that she was out of breath.

"South, to Dorne." Bran answers, "There's a place called the tower of joy. That is where you will give birth to Jon… My father will come for you then, but Rhaegar, the men most loyal to you will be there waiting for him to guard Lyanna as she gives birth. Ser Arthur Dayne fights and dies in combat against my father but Rhaegar, you won't be there…"

"Where will I be?" Rhaegar asks.

"You will be dead before then…"

"You told Lyanna how she died… can you give me the same courtesy?" Rhaegar asks.

"I still don't think that's a good idea." Bran grimaces. "If you know how you might try and change the way it happens and everything could—"

"I've made it this far without changing anything… Brandon Stark, you can trust me. Whatever you tell me, I won't go against it."

Bran gulps before giving in. "You die in combat with Robert Baratheon on the trident…"

"Oh." Rhaegar frowns. "I see…"

"Robert will not be okay with this." Lyanna says, "He'll go to war with your father over me—he's a blustering fool who thinks we're in love. The man hardly even knows me… but I know him. He'd died to see you pay, he's already pissed about the tournament."

"He will lead a rebellion… Robert will become King eventually. He'll make my father his Hand."

"Robert Baratheon? King of Westeros? No wonder the future needs saving." Lyanna grins in spite of the tears flowing down her cheeks. "Alright, you've bloody convinced me. I can't believe I'm agreeing to this…" Bran beams at her and suddenly flies in to hug her—and to both of their surprise he is successful. For a brief moment, Lyanna can even smell him—and feels his hair brush against her cheek. _He's my nephew… Somehow I just know it… Ned, I wish you could come with me._

"Are you positive?" Rhaegar asks.

Lyanna nods, standing up. "We should go before I change my mind or wake up from whatever dream I'm having… Can I at least let Howland out of my closet?"

"Howland must be the one who tells the others that it was I who abducted you. We must let him believe that to be true… I'm sorry, Lyanna, I know you care for the boy…" Rhaegar says.

"He told me he loved me yesterday." Lyanna sighs. "He's sweet and gentle, unlike most men… I suppose if it's for the best…"

Rhaegar stands and leads Bran and Lyanna, who finds a traveling cloak and puts it on, out into the hallway once more. Quietly they creep past Lyanna's room, where Howland can barely be heard sobbing inside. Then they pass her brother's, and she savors the sound of their snoring for it would be the last she ever heard of them for a while. Finally they descended the stairway down into the bar. The Stark guards were fast asleep, doubled over their tankards and drooling on the counter. The Innkeep glances up at them as Rhaegar leads Lyanna out into the cold, rainy night. Bran follows them, still linking their hands together, as they hurry through the pouring rain to Rhaegar's white stallion.

Rhaegar and Lyanna both turn and give Bran one final glance. "Will we ever see you again?" She asks.

"I don't know…" Bran admits, "Whatever happens now depends entirely on you two… I…" He hesitates, looking down into the mud. "I don't know what to say… thank you. Thank you for believing me."

They release his hands as Rhaegar helps Lyanna climb aboard his horse. Rain clings to their clothing, pattering off the hood of Lyanna's cloak. Bran is nowhere to be found. As Rhaegar spurs the horse into motion, she casts one last long look up at the inn of the crossroads. _Goodbye, father… Brandon… Benjen… Howland… Ned… Please forgive me…_

The Night King

A thunderous crack echoed across the black long night. The giant wall of ice before him was breaking. Huge chunks cascaded down the side, tearing apart every undead soldier beneath it, crushing portions of his army like insects. The Night King didn't mind. For every few hundred that were demolished, a thousand more climbed over their remains. They scurried up the ice like ants, striking it with whatever weapons they could carry. The deepest of the fissures was stretching as his soldiers filed away at it. Thousands of undead, all of them rapidly climbing on top of each other, were nearly at the top of The Wall now. It was only a matter of time...

The Night King and his three lieutenants watched on horseback in silence, snow whipping about their long, white beards. Up above on The Wall, someone was blowing a horn over and over again. The Night King knew the men of the Night's Watch were preparing themselves on the other side—soon they would fall and join his army like all the others.

A slice of ice the size of a castle slid down the side of The Wall, splitting into several pieces as it reaches the snowy ground, crushing at least a thousand skeletons underneath. The Night King's blue gaze watches as all those around the devastation gathered their bones back up, reforming themselves, before continuing their work. The ones trapped under the ice would be too crushed to fix, but it was no matter for the Night King.

Atop The Wall, Dolorous Edd was cursing under his breath as the ice beneath his feet began to vibrate and sway in the wind. Eventually the undead reach his position. He pulls out his sword and fights them off, kicking a few over the edge to send them back from whence they came. Harolt kept blowing the horn down at Castle Black, watching as the few of them who were left gathered in the courtyard. That's when Edd spots about a hundred soldiers riding from the south, each bearing the sigils of different northern houses—the Banner of House Stark flying primarily over all the rest. Reinforcements had come, but it was not what Dolorous Edd had expected. _Where are the knights of the Vale?! There was supposed to be five thousand of them coming…_

Several more skeletons shrieked as they climbed onto the parapets, sprinting for Harolt and Edd with hatchets and swords raised. Harolt throws the horn at one, knocking its skull off its shoulders—but the body doesn't relent, and crushes Harolt's head in under the swing of its axe. Edd is surrounded, and knows this is the end. "Bollocks." He curses, fighting them anyway as best he can. Before any can kill him, however, another crack splits through the air—louder than all the rest—and suddenly Edd is no longer standing on The Wall but flying head over heels through the air as his world was turned sideways.

The Wall was falling apart. Straight down the middle the ice gave way. As it all came crashing down into the earth, a cloud of white plumes forth from both sides. The Night's Watch are blinded before being crushed underneath the weight of the ice. Castle Black, in a manner of seconds, is completely demolished. The reinforcements riding for it stop in their tracks, watching the scene in horror and awe. Never in their lives did they ever witness such devastation. The hole in The Wall was only a hundred feet wide, stretching all the way from the top to the bottom. Huge pillars of ice spiked up around the base of the opening… and as the snowy mist began to settle, The Night King and his army of the dead passed through.

"FOR THE NORTH!" Bellows the reinforcements, unleashing their swords and spurring their horses forward, fear and bravery in their hearts.

It was hardly a battle, but a massacre, and it was over within seconds. Their horses clashed with the undead, tearing through their lines before becoming overwhelmed by the sheer number of them. Some were falling straight out of the sky from the top of The Wall itself, crushing whoever was unlucky enough to be fighting beneath it. A man from House Mormont was the last standing, and it wasn't until one of the White Walker lieutenants plunged his icy sword through his belly that the warrior from Bear Island fell.

Like all who fell beneath the Night King's eyes, they were soon back up on their feet, eyes as blue as the sea.

The King of Night looks to the vast army of undead around him and lifts his scythe up to the sky, pointing it southward. A silent command is issued, and every one of his five hundred thousand corpses starts to run with only one destination in mind.

_Winterfell._

 

 

 ** _Author's Note:_** __This is the end of Season 7. Thank you for reading. I will be taking a month or two off before beginning season 8.


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